


A Duly Appointed Officer of the Court

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (maybe), All’s well that ends well, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Sexual Innuendo, Awkward Boners, Badass Rey, Bail jumper Ben, Bazine doesn’t, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben is a boss, Ben wishes he didn’t know that, Ben’s day in court, Ben’s dick has his day too, Ben’s dick is Reysexual and keen to get it on, Ben’s dick ships it - big time, Chewie ships it, Conjugal Visits, Crack Treated Seriously, Dirty Talk, Dominant Ben Solo, Epiphanies, Exes, F/M, Feral Rey, HEA, Han knows about pellucid pestles, Han over-shares, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jealous Ben Solo, Judgement Day, Leia does too, Maz Kanata Ships It, Mention of Drug Abuse, Note Updated Rating, Penis In Vagina Sex, Poe Dameron & Rey - Freeform, Possible trigger chapter 7 - mention of pregnancy and depiction of childbirth, Rated M for language and mention of Ben’s dick, Rey Niima unfair to Ben’s dick, Rey doesn’t care, Reylo - Freeform, The Morning After The Night Before, Vignettes, ahem, an unexpected visitor, bounty hunter rey, cringeworthy talk, depiction of drunken behaviour, jealous Rey, mention of a shooting - recreation of an event in A New Hope, mention of alcohol and substance abuse, mention of transcendent handjobs, reinventing the kegel, talk of Pellucid Pestle’s, unreliable timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23732602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Just a bit of nonsense swirling in my head.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 107
Kudos: 167





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of nonsense swirling in my head.

“Kylo Ren?”

He looked up, bleary eyed; 5foot 7inches of gorgeousness stood before him, in a white, short-sleeved t-shirt showing off slim, tanned arms. He couldn’t see whether the tee was band or decorated with something pretty, because she had some sort of sleeveless jacket over it. Wait!, was that a bulletproof vest?

His inebriated brain told him to ask her if it was, what came out was, “For you, sweetheart, I could be.”

He leered at her, turning toward the other guys in the booth for approbation, who guffawed with laughter at his wit. He sniggered along with them.

“Yes, yes you are. Or should I say Kylo Ren aka Ben Solo.”

The voice was clipped, and cute, and British - and a turn-on.

He turned back to her, she was holding a phone in her hand which she turned toward him. The screen was cracked, but there was his mugshot, as clear as day, the latest one too.

She tucked the phone away and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to him; he took a hold, looking stupidly down at it.

“Ben Solo aka Kylo Ren, you are served, being in breach of bail. I, as a duly appointed officer of the court, am taking you in.”

At that, she lifted the hem of the vest to reveal a badge attached to the belt of her jeans.

He sat there, his fogged brain trying to compute. Then he was on his feet, paper thrown down, lifting and depositing her the other side of the high bar and making a run for the door. He was outside and home free in seconds; a sprint record, surely. He heard whoops from inside the bar as he mounted his dirt bike and kicked it into life.

He vaguely heard a slamming screen door and a shout from behind him, a woman’s voice furiously yelling, “Stop, asshole,” but he was already gunning the engine and taking off over the meadow heading for the distant tree line.

He was standing on the pedals, the bike bouncing under him, when there was a terrific impact. Shit, he must have hit a rock. He went one way, landing heavily, the bike went another. He lay there, winded, gasping for breath.

A shadow crossed him, blocking out the sun. He looked up at a female form, long legs clad in skintight jeans with worn sneakers on her feet. The stock of a rifle was resting against her hip, the barrel pointing heavenwards, her finger resting on the trigger.

It was times like this he just knew he was his father’s son. Her image, silhouetted against the sky, rifle and all, frankly turned him on.

She spoke first.

“On your feet, asshole, don’t make me hurt you again.”

He was still struggling to breathe, but his father’s mouth engaged, gasping out snarkily, “Ah, the voice of an angel.”

She sneered at him, “The voice of the woman who owns your ass. Now get up.”

She waited until he was on his knees before snapping the cuffs on, supporting him as he staggered to his feet.

“Sweetheart, you cannot be serious,” he wheezed. “Come on, name your price, you get all of me for free anyway.”

She snorted, a delightful sound, “Yeah, like that’s worth having.”

He’d caught sight of his dirt bike, a mangled heap. “Jesus, you shot my bike from under me.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she sneered at him, pushing him to move.

“Are you crazy,” he demanded, “what if the fuel tank had exploded? Sweet Jesus, woman!”

“Nah, I’m too good a shot, and stop blaspheming.” He got another shove in the back and began trudging back to the bar.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I told you, an appointed officer of the court. Hired to haul your bail-jumping ass back there.”

Now it was his turn to sneer, “It won’t do you any good, my mom will make this all go away.”

“Not this time, heartbreaker, it’s your mom who called us in. You punched out the wrong guy, mister. Someone whose Pops has as much clout as your mom. It was this or your mom’s political career down the pan. I’m here, so no prize for guessing who she chose.”

For some reason, and it was completely irrational because he was 32 years of age and had blown all his previous chances, he felt tears prickling behind his eyes. His mom had finally done what she’d often threatened to do over the years, give him up. Yeah, maybe he’d have done the same in her place, but it hurt. He couldn’t deny.

He went quietly then, head slumped forward.

They had reached the parking lot of the bar. The guys he’d hooked up with were standing outside, along with a few other barflies. She caught at his hands, cuffed behind his back, and halted him.

“I surely hope there’s no problem here,” her tone was even but determined, “as a duly appointed officer of the court I operate with the law’s authority and protection.”

His new friends shuffled their feet and stole sidelong glances at each other. He must not be thought worth the effort, because they turned and shuffled back into the bar.

Yeah, that’s just about right, he thought bitterly, who was there for him when he needed it. Not these guys, that’s for sure, or his mom, maybe his dad, definitely not Uncle Luke. He felt the customary surge of rage thinking on that last name. She must have seen his body tense because her voice came, a soothing murmur, “Easy fella, I’ve got you.”

They were moving again, he surrendering to her will. She seemed so certain of her place in the world he clung to her aura of surety, of light, otherwise the darkness would take him.

They approached a beat up truck.

“You have got to be shitting me!”

“What?”

“You cannot be serious about putting me in that heap of junk. You want to get us both killed?”

“This truck,” she gritted out, “is an acknowledged classic. An icon and a tribute to American automobile production. A... “

“Stop right there, sweetheart. I hear all this from my dad. He’s got one just like it. Well, not _just_ like it,” he kicked a tire, the wheel arch above it showing unmistakable signs of decay, “his is minus the rust.”

“This truck,” her voice was tight with anger, “will outlast any car you care to name. Certainly that fancy import you drive. Tie Silencer,” the sneer was strong in her voice, “a heap of junk in two years time. Had to change the transmission yet, flyboy?”

In fact, he had, but chose to change the subject.

“Been checking up on me, sweetheart. Like what you see?”

She snorted and didn’t answer, opening the passenger door of the Falcon and jerking her head for him to get in. He grinned at her as he manoeuvred himself clumsily over the sill and wiggled to get comfy in the cracked leather seat, cuffs notwithstanding. 

He angled his body so he would face her as they drove. She took him by surprise as she pressed her body to his, pulling the seatbelt over his body and securing it, the rifle now slung over her back.

There was a moment when their eyes met and her expression softened. She had freckles he saw, and her hair was scraped back into three buns. Unusual, but he liked it. Unique, he corrected himself, she was unique, unlike any other girl he’d ever met.

She raised a hand and he held his breath. Was she really gonna... ?

Her eyes travelled to his hair, her hand following, pushing his too long locks back out of his eyes, and tucking strands behind his ears.

She smiled when she saw his big ‘ol dumbo ears and he felt them begin to heat up and no doubt redden. Her fingertips brushed against the tip of one and stroked all the way down to the lobe. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

Her hand was taken away and the truck door slammed, he heard her lock it. Huh, this thing didn’t even have central locking. He kept his eyes closed, hanging onto the sensation of her cool hand upon him, listening to her rummaging around behind him. Securing the rifle, he guessed.

His eyes were open by the time she slid into the driver’s seat, turning the key and hearing the distinctive whine a Falcon made before the engine fired. His dad said it was the best sound in the world, he’d heard it often enough growing up.

She put the Falcon into gear and they moved off, hitting the highway.

He cleared his throat, “Where are you taking me?”

“Sheriff’s office,” she replied briefly, “they’ll arrange transportation back to Chandrila.”

“You could take me there yourself.”

He tried to sound casual, keeping the hopefulness out of his voice.

“Sure I could, but I’d have to sleep at some point and five’ll get you ten, when I woke up you’d be gone.”

“You could chain me up,” he offered, “on the bed, beside you.”

She snorted again, “You wish.”

“Could I take you out for a drink when I get out? Doesn’t have to be in a bar. Coffee maybe? Dinner? Dinner would be real nice, we could go see a movie after, if you like.”

She took her eyes off the road and stared at him, “Are you for real? Why would I get involved with a boy like you?”

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing furiously, “Because you could handle me, because I think you’re ‘The One’.” He cringed, way to go, Solo. Nothing like exposing yourself to ridicule.

“Sooo, I accost you in a bar, shoot the dirt bike from underneath you, threaten you with deadly force and cuff you, and you say I’m ‘The One’?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

She’d turned her eyes back to the road and suddenly laughed. He saw her nose crinkle, she was adorable.

He suddenly felt like it was Christmas morning and he was looking at all the wrapped gifts under the tree hoping against hope that the toy he’d longed for, begged for, was in one of the boxes. Feeling the disappointment if it wasn’t would kill him.

His emotions had always been big and raw and out there.

She stole another glance at him.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he felt the pressure around his heart ease.

“Okay, but there are rules.”

“Rules?”

“Rules. You get your hair cut. Not too short, but so I can get to your ears without fighting my way through a forest.”

“My ears?”

“Your ears. I love them. I want to stroke them - constantly.”

He felt them heat up again.

“Okay, if you say so.”

“I _do_ say so.”

“Okay.”

She bit her lip, “And that stuff on your face, shave it off.”

“My beard?”

She snorted again. Really, that sound was addictive.

“Beard! More like bum fluff.”

“Bum fluff?”

“Bum fluff. I’ve got dual citizenship, deal with it.”

“Bum fluff. Okay.”

“And get counselling for drink and drug addiction while you’re inside - and anger management.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And get your dick checked out.”

“My dick?”

“Your dick. From what I’ve seen online, you’re not too fussy where you stick it. I want an up-to-date medical report saying you’re disease free and everything’s in working order.”

“Are you always this direct?” His cheeks were burning now.

“I don’t like time wasters. Deal with it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And if you step out of line,” she growled, “do I have to say it?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good, good, that’s very good.” She slid her eyes over him. He felt his toes tingle with that look. “Good boy.”

He wriggled in his seat, another part of him was tingling.

“And write your mom you’re sorry.”

He felt himself bristle, “No,” his tone was hard and brittle.

“Yes. Family’s important. I won’t have our kids disrespecting their grandparents.”

He didn’t see that coming, “Our kids?”

“Our kids,” she affirmed. “I’m an orphan, I want a big family; a big, solid family, with your lips, and hair, and eyes, and ears.”

“Not my ears,” he protested.

“Your ears,” she gritted out, “or we call the whole thing off.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, and you’ll write your mom?”

“And I’ll write my mom,” he intoned.

“Good, good. Good boy.”

He wriggled again, “I’ll need your number.”

“For why.”

“So I can call you on my weekly call.”

She didn’t answer and he felt his heart drop, she’d been messing with him, he knew. The familiar sensation of anger flooded through him, and embarrassment. Why did he always do this, put himself out there, make himself a sitting target.

She was biting her lip, and he opened his mouth to lash out with his tongue.

“No, you’ve got to earn it.”

He closed his mouth.

“Earn it?”

“Yeah, you can’t have it all your own way in this relationship, that’s not healthy. One month, you can have it one month in if you take the counselling and write your mom and get your dick checked out. I’ll give you an address to send the medical report.”

He hesitated, “Okay.”

“Okay, but you’ve got to alternate me with your mom, start building bridges with your parents.”

He sneered at her, “Oh, yeah, like she’ll be there when I call.”

She glanced at him, her face grim, “She’ll be there, or else she doesn’t get to see her grandkids. And she doesn’t get to use our kids for propaganda to advance her political career either.”

He looked at her, her eyes were back on the road. Finally, someone who could face down his mom. Something warm began to bloom in his chest.

She was speaking again, “And I don’t see any reason to have that dick uncle of yours in our lives either. We go to your mom’s Thanksgiving and Christmas, we stay only a little while if he’s there. I won’t have you disrespected in front of our kids.”

She was nodding her head determinedly. Could he love her any more?

“He disrespects the father of my children in front of them, in front of _me_ , he feels the pain. Yeah,” she was clearly on a roll, “he feels the pain; him, me and my retractable baton. _The pain_.”

Clearly, she had done in-depth research on him and his family dynamic. He wondered at it, but let it go.

“I’ll call my mom.”

“Good, good,” she purred, “good boy.”

He put his eyes on the road ahead, basking in the warm glow radiating through his chest into all his parts.

“Hey, you missed your turn.”

“No, no I didn’t.”

“You did, I just saw the sign. You need to turn back.”

“No, no I don’t.”

He shifted uncomfortably, “Where are you taking me?”

“To the sheriffs office - in Chandrila.”

“What if I try to escape?”

She gave him a look that curled his toes, “Think about your life, future husband, about your choices. Weigh them carefully in the balance.”

“Yes, ma’am. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Rey, my name is Rey.”

“Rey,” he rolled the name around his tongue. “Hi, Rey, I’m Ben, Ben Solo.”

++++

The tabloids had a field day when the story broke, feral sand rat, (a direct quote from Uncle Luke), shacks up with a prince of Alderaan, son of esteemed senator Leia Organa. A former bounty hunter, too, although they’d invested since in an auto-shop when he got out of jail, situated near the Organa-Solo family home.

Senator Leia Organa was pleased and proud. Pleased and proud of them both. Senator Organa denied all reports over a rift between herself and her brother, caused by his alleged disgust at her trailer trash daughter-in-law’s lack of breeding and reported deadly expertise with a baton, (a retractable one).

“Luke is welcome to all, _all_ , family functions,” she declared seriously, “as long as he is prepared to sit next to Rey at table - as she has specifically requested.”

There was a distinct twinkle in her eye as she refused to answer any more questions, launching into her latest bill to improve checks on fostered children.

Ben’s dick had passed muster and was soon put to good use, a girl and a boy (twins) already having made their way into the world and a third on the way.

The both of them had mops of black, curly hair and bee stung lips, but, mercifully, their mother’s ears, nose, and hazel eyes.

Of course he never articulated this opinion, being too busy these days being a good boy and daily reaping the rewards - he and his dick both.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I’d finished with these two. Apparently not.

He walked into the sheriff’s office in Chandrila with a real spring to his step, his heart carefree, hand-in-hand with his bride to be.

They had made an overnight stop, and as well as discovering his fiancée could eat enough food to choke a pig, he had found that she was also possessed of truly gifted hands. Indeed, he may never want vaginal sex again. That rotation of her right thumb, for instance, just under the glans as she worked him ... 

Of course, he would have vaginal sex again, when ordered to, his future wife being single-minded to a fault about starting a family right away. And who was he to deny her? (After his dick was pronounced fit for purpose, naturally).

It had been a seeing stars kind of sex - bestowed upon him twice for being a _good boy_. It was remarkable really. Since then - since he’d put on his pants - he had had to keep shaking out his left leg, (he dressed left), it being necessary because his dick was oblivious to public decency laws and was twitching and contracting and expanding in a way that was truly concerning.

“More”, his second brain seemed to be urging, “gimme more”. He could only hope a (Rey free) spell in jail would calm everything down.

As luck would have it, Maz Kanata was duty desk sergeant, small of stature and big of personality and voice, and it was enough to shake him out of his feeling of utter contentment - almost.

Ben Solo,” rang out through the custody suite; heads turned and he felt his ears begin to burn. Maz was an associate of his mother’s and no stranger to the Organa-Skywalker-Solo family home and, worse, their family history.

He felt a squeeze to his hand and looked down, bright hazel eyes with swirling gold flecks gazed up at him reassuringly. “It’ll be okay. Promise.”

Maz’s gaze flicked between them as they approached her desk still holding hands, her smile getting wider with each step they took toward her and a with a _knowing_ look in her eye. That look unsettled Ben.

“Rey Niima,” Maz’s voice was now a _little_ quieter, like by half a decibel, “looks like you got your man.” More curious eyes were turned their way - could this get any worse?

Rey let go his hand, placing both her hands on Maz’s desk, clasped together in a relaxed but businesslike manner.

He did not like being disconnected from her, so put his hand on her ass. There-there, it soothed him, so much better. 

He fought down the desire to publicly nuzzle her neck, against which a few stray strands from her buns were nestling. She gave a little wiggle against his large, warm hand, getting comfy, causing his dick to twitch and expand. 

He concentrated on the poster depicting the dangers of driving under the influence of alcohol.

“You know I always get my man, Maz,” Rey’s tone was neutral, but she gave another reassuring wiggle against his hand. Okay, so she wanted to kill him, that or be ravaged here and now on top of Maz’s counter. His dick twitched convulsively again, ready for action.

He concentrated on the poster declaiming the penalties for dealing Class A drugs.

“I can see that, honey,” Maz’s eyes were continuing to dart between them.

Rey‘s tone was businesslike, “I’m bringing in Benjamin C. Skywalker-Solo, wanted on assault charges and bail jumping. Here’s my court authority to apprehend the prisoner, and to surrender his person to law enforcement for safe return to the authority of the court.”

She pulled papers from an inside pocket of her leather jacket. “I wish also to file paperwork for payment of bounty, payable to Ben Kenobi and Associates.”

They had discussed this the previous evening between food and sex. It didn’t sit right with him somehow that she was claiming bounty for bringing him in. She had soothed him by emphasising they were in a committed relationship now and must think about providing for the future - she got 40 percent of the bounty payable, minus expenses.

“We need to start our own business, dear,” she had explained, looking at him with adorable seriousness. “An auto-shop preferably, servicing foreign imports, with a custom shop on the side restoring _American_ muscle cars.”

He liked the sound of that phrase - committed relationship - and dropped his objection, preening a little for he’d never been in one of those before.

Well, _nearly_ never been in one of those before. He intended to use that phrase to describe his status at every possible opportunity now. Perhaps he should open a Facebook account and put it out there? Instagram, maybe?

Maz pulled out a file from under the counter, beginning the process of taking custody, eyes continuing to dart between the two of them.

He was aware of curious glances from people passing through the suite; having nothing better to do it seemed, than to stare at the unkempt, un-cuffed Sasquatch standing docilely beside the slender form of the county’s most feared female bounty hunter - a hand clutching her ass.

To the left of Maz’s desk were double doors leading to the holding cells. The automatic doors granting access to them swished open, and a smartly dressed woman tottering on ridiculously high heels came through them.

Ben had cast an idle glance over at the sound of them opening, and at the sight of the woman who emerged he dropped his hand from Rey’s ass and clutched both his hands against his chest, wringing them together.

His one - failed - long-term relationship had just walked back into his life.

Cringing, he quickly averted his eyes, bowing his head a little so his hair fell forward over his face. Too late, his ex had spotted him, “Ben, Ben Solo! Behn-nee.”

The sound of spiked heels titupping across the hard floor smote his ears, which were now burning. He stole a surreptitious glance at his sweetheart through his hair. She had put down her pen and was gazing with narrowed eyes at his ex as she approached, lips pressed grimly together. Maz was openly grinning, phone in hand. 

Oh, Maker, please don’t let her be filming this.

“Behn-nee,” Bazine was beside him now, prodding his bicep. “Whatcha hiding for? I see you.”

He straightened up, pushing back his hair with both hands, “Oh, hi, Baz.” He was trying for casual, it came out a strangled squawk.

She’d put her briefcase down and continued prodding him, getting him to turn toward her. “Behn-nee, why so tense? Aren’t you pleased to see me? Come on, relax, I’ve see you in worse situations, you _baaad_ boy.”

He smiled weakly, turning to face her. She cast an appreciative eye over his too long hair and scrappy beard, “Mmm, baby, if you’d been rocking this look when we were together, maybe we would still be an item. I like it.”

She was running her hands over the expanse of his chest now, and down over his abs and flanks, digging in her blood red talons, causing his body to convulse. “Ow, Baz, quit it.”

“Baby, what happened? All your hardness has gone. Ew, you feel pudgy.” She passed her hands over his hips, pushing her surgically enhanced breasts against him as she reached round, finding and squeezing his love handles.

It was true, he hadn’t hit the gym for a while and had been bingeing on burgers and beers lately, but, come on, it wasn’t that bad. He noticed Rey and Maz had moved position to get a better view, his peripheral vision picked up their movement. He was pressed who to give priority to; pissed off fiancée or _auteur_ Maz.

Pissed off fiancée won.

Bazine was still pressed against him, arms around his neck. “Keep the look and get back into shape Behn-nee, and we‘ll bring Kylo back to the bedroom. She reached between them and squeezed his dick. His dick responded by retracting. “Not, Rey,” it admonished him. Bazine frowned.

“Ben Solo,” she scolded, drawing back a little ways, “you don’t seem pleased to see me.”

He smiled weakly, aware of his fiancée’s rigid posture and clenched fists.

“Baz,” he sounded breathless, “this is not the time or place.” He heard a growl from Rey. “And, anyways, I’m in a committed relationship now,” he chimed out virtuously.

“Oh, with whom?”

“Baz, meet Rey, my fiancée.” He loosened Bazine’s grip on him and scuttled away to stand by his girlfriend.

“Rey,” he put a piteous note in his voice, “this is Bazine Netal, my, er, my friend.”

“No need for introductions, Solo,” Rey gritted out through clenched teeth, “I see exactly who she is, or should I say was.”

Bazine was staring disbelievingly at them both. Finally, she managed, “You’re in a relationship with Rey Niima? You’re boning trailer trash these days? Does your Mom know?”

She gazed at them; taking in Ben’s expression of soft neediness as he worriedly regarded his fiancée’s scowling visage, hovering over her solicitously like a demented mother hen. She snatched up her briefcase as she answered her own question, “Clearly, you are.”

She gave one last, scathing look at Rey and addressed Ben, “When you’re done roughing it, call me.” A toss of her head, a sharp turn on her heel, and she was on her way out the building then, ass swaying from side to side like the barely secured cargo of some overburdened dromedary. They watched her go.

Ben’s hands were back against his chest, wringing nervously. He gazed down into the gimlet eyed stare of his sweetheart, his jaw moving nervously. She began poking him in the chest in time with her next words, “Every-conceivable-disease-known-to-man.”

He understood, his dick better bring its A-game.

She turned to go, but swiftly turned back, bumping into him as he’d moved to follow. Her face was scrunched up into a scowl, the prodding of his chest resumed, “You told me Kylo was the dog’s name, not some dark edge lord persona for the use of.” Her tone was accusatory.

“It is ... was ... Baz just liked to - you know.”

“Do I? Do I know?” she demanded. “I think maybe I’d better not. That guy shows up in our bedroom,” she paused and growled, “do I have to say it?”

“No, ma’am,” he stuttered out.

She regarded him out of narrowed eyes, “Good, good. Good boy.”

She turned back to the counter, Maz put down her phone as Rey took the two or three steps toward her, picking up her pen to sign off. He sidled up to her and tentatively placed his hand against her ass. She didn’t object, but she didn’t wriggle against it to get comfy. He started to get upset.

Sign off complete, Rey tucked her paperwork into the inner pocket of her jacket and turned to face him. Whatever she was going to say died on her lips as she regarded him; his full lips were trembling and he took a sharp inhale of breath as their eyes met, knowing they were to be imminently parted and she was mad at him.

She moved to press against him, raising a hand to push back his hair and gently stroke one of his ears. He let out a great sigh and leaned into her touch, his expressive eyes telling her how sorry he was for being a complete dick with his dick and boning Bazine.

“Maz,” she didn’t cease caressing his ear or break eye contact, “would you release him into my cognisance? I guarantee him in court for his scheduled appearance.”

There was a pause as Maz turned the matter over in her mind, at last she put him out of his misery, “Ok, but you’ll have to sign for him.”

“No problem, I’ll sign for him,” murmured Rey. To his ears, it seemed like she’d just agreed to more than agreeing to get him to a scheduled court appearance. Like, maybe taking him on for life?

He wound his arms around her, pulling her closer. She didn’t object so he lowered his head and kissed her. She didn’t object so he kissed her again, lowering one hand to press it possessively against her denim clad peachy derrière. She moaned against his lips, her hands going into his hair. He adjusted and tightened his hold.

“Okay, you two, break it up. Niima, make your mark here and here.”

Reluctantly, he loosened his grip so she could turn in his arms and sign two bits of paper; Maz placing a pointer finger where she wanted Rey’s signature on each.

The transfer of ownership completed, Rey took his hand. Thanking Maz, she glanced up at her needy lover and uttered bracingly, “Come on, you!”

They turned, she walking forward with a determined stomp, as if the kicker in a game of football about to take a field goal, he lumbering beside her. Maz watched them all the way out, the most unlikely pairing you could think of, but so right for each other.

Her eyes fell on her phone and she recalled the video she’d taken. Selecting it she sent via WhatsApp to a certain senator currently residing in Coruscant, the state capital, adding a caption, ‘Ben Solo gets his ass owned,’ and hit send. She followed it up with, “And if you don’t get YOUR ass down here and support your son, you’re going to miss out on A LOT,” and pressed send again.

Shaking her head, she began to file paperwork. Who would have thought it, a prince of Alderaan and a scavenger girl? Being well acquainted with the girl in question, if Ben Solo stepped out of line with Rey Niima, well he was like to get his ass blown off; Niima used 5mm rounds in her Marlin SBL rifle. Alternatively, there was always that baton of hers.

Maz Kanata started to chuckle, her laughter filling the custody suite and attracting the attention of curious passersby; whatever method Rey employed, Ben Solo would know he was owned.


	3. Chapter 3

“Now that we have time,” Rey pronounced, “I propose we go get your stuff and move you in with me.”

Ben liked the sound of that and said so. He was about to tell her where he lived when she interrupted with, “I know where you live.” Of course she did. He decided to broach the subject.

“You seem to know a lot about me and my family.”

She cast one of her sidelong glances at him, one of the ones which made him tingle. “A hunter needs to understand her _prey_ before she tracks it.”

As she uttered the word prey, she turned the key in the ignition. The Falcon’s engine fired, but instead of putting it in gear and pulling into traffic she let the engine run for a while so that he felt the throb and power of the engine vibrate through the passenger seat. It made him feel uncomfortable - in a good way - and opened his mind to all kinds of possibilities going forward.

“Our female is masterful,” purred his dick, slithering on an upward trajectory toward Ben’s navel, “she will blow our nose and then she will blow our mind.”

Ben internalised, “She will.” “You bet your ass I will,” the crisp, schoolmarm tones of his girlfriend overrode the growl of the Falcon. He started, gazing into eyes now more green than hazel in appearance, their scattered golden flecks swirling so mesmerisingly he could not look away.

Point made, she released him, putting the Falcon in gear and moving off into traffic. He sighed with relief.

His dick was not so easily talked down, “Mistress,” it breathed. “Be patient,” Ben urged, transmitting soothing thoughts toward the raging beast in his pants, “soon we will be in jail and can be fully checked out.”

Finally allowing itself to be mollified, after giving a last defiant twitch, his dick began to settle. Ben wriggled, trying to adjust himself best he could without being _obvious_.

He had been living in the basement of his Uncle Chewie’s gym, his adopted uncle who had known him since the hour of his birth.

Uncle Chewie was never judgemental, though Ben knew he was deeply worried at Ben’s lack of direction and self-destructive tendencies. Han was the one who vocalised their concerns, visiting every two weeks with his allowance and urging his son to think about his life and not waste his talents ‘dicking around’.

He had always acknowledged the love his dad and Uncle Chewie had for him, and it had kept him from more destructive behaviours, not wanting to totally disappoint them.

In the short time he’d known Rey, he had come to acknowledge that his former lifestyle was a manifestation of a sustained ‘fuck you’ directed at his mother and his uncle Luke. However, since Rey, he had begun to question for the first time who he was really hurting by his practices.

They drew up before the gym’s premises and he led her down the few stone steps to the basement area, fishing out his keys and unlocking the door. He reached around the door jamb and felt for the light switch. The few bulbs that there were flickered to life, casting a thin, yellow light. He was suddenly conscious of what a dump he’d been living in. What was he thinking, bringing a woman who‘s natural scent was of a summer morning to this place?

Rey walked past him, seemingly unconcerned by the rubbish dumped in the room; old kit, broken bits of furniture and the like. Sad, dust covered relics rendering the air still and musty.

He had closed the door and stood, shame-faced, beside it. Clearing his throat he began sheepishly to explain. “I’m sorry for the mess, but this was only meant to be temporary until I got fixed up.” His ears were burning now with embarrassment and shame.

She swung round, her trademark grin lighting up her features, “No worries, I’ve lived in worse.”

He looked at her expectantly, wanting her to elaborate. She shrugged and turned away, making her way toward the back of the room and the tiny, cramped space where he slept on an air mattress - a cramped shower room and toilet just off it.

“So,” she said, peering in, “this is where the magic happens.”

He was about to comment when the basement door was flung open and Uncle Chewie marched in. “The hell, Ben,” he shouted, “jumping bail is not cool, buddy, Han’s beside himself.” He trailed off, catching sight of Rey.

“Hi, Uncle Chewie. I’m sorry, I’ll call him.” Ben shuffled forward. The big man grabbed him, pulling him to him in a bear hug, ruffling his hair. Ben stood at over six feet tall in his socks, yet he looked tiny in comparison standing within the big man’s embrace, a head shorter at least.

“Kid, you gotta understand, you’re thirty-two now. The stunts you pull were cool and edgy at twenty-two, at thirty-two they are just pathetic.”

It was the closest his uncle had ever got to criticising him so Ben knew things were bad with his dad. There was only one person Chewie loved more than Ben Solo and that was his life-long friend, Han Solo.

Chewie released him, though not before bestowing a kiss to his forehead. 

“Sooo, who’s your lady friend.” Ben could tell his uncle was trying to sound casual but was bristling with curiosity.

“Uncle Chewie, meet Rey.”

The big man moved forward, reaching out his hand to shake Rey’s. His eyes widened appreciatively as their hands clasped, “That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, little lady.”

“Rey’s a bounty hunter,” interjected Ben.

Chewie’s dark eyes turned toward him, an unreadable expression in them. 

“A bounty hunter, you say.” His uncle spoke casually, but there was a whole world of condemnation in that sentence, Ben knew. That it had come to this; a once bright, loving boy had become a loser, asshole man who worried his father sick.

“Hey, we’ll have none of that.” It was Rey speaking, coming and standing beside him, once again seeming to be able to read his mind, taking his hand and rubbing it with her own.

She turned to face down Chewie, “What’s done is done, Ben will pay his debt to society and then become a citizen ... or I’ll kick his ass.” This last bit was softened as she reached up and bestowed a kiss on her beau’s cheek.

Chewie was looking between the two of them, trying to figure it out. Ben enlightened him.

“She shot my dirt bike from under me,” Ben explained, blushing all over now under his uncle’s astringent gaze, “but we fell in love and I’m going to do my time and then we’ll get married and raise a family.”

Chewie looked at Rey with respect, but with irritation at Ben as he asked,. _”Your_ dirt bike? The one I loaned you?”

“I guess,” Ben muttered.

Chewie cast him a fulminating glance, “And where is it now?”

“Well, it’s lying in a meadow one state over, but I don’t think it’s going anywhere, it was pretty banged up.”

“Well,” breezed Rey, “at that range, with the rounds I was using, that was inevitable.” She caught Chewie’s eye and flashed a wide grin at him.

The reaction to such confidences on the part of the big man seemed to hang in the balance, but then he gave an answering grin, “Okay, though there’ll be paperwork to fill out.” He looked at his nephew meaningfully.

Ben scuffed a foot against the floor and said in a subdued way, “Okay, Uncle Chewie.”

You see, this was the problem, Chewie ruminated, looking exasperatedly at him, enough of young Ben Solo resided in the man who stood before him to completely disarm him. The love and affection he had had for the child of his best friend never seemed to diminish, no matter older Ben’s at times downright irresponsible shenanigans. He sighed.

“Okay, so what’s the plan? Why are you here?”

“I’m moving in with Rey, so I’m gonna pack my things and get out of your hair.”

Chewie raised an eyebrow, “Show’s you how wrong a man can be. I thought you were going to jail?”

“That too,” Ben replied, “meanwhile, I’m released into Rey’s cognisance.”

Chewie nodded, “Ok, I’ll leave you to it.” He instantly thought better of that remark and turned to Rey. “Hey, come on up and I’ll show you around the premises.” No way was he leaving Han Solo’s son alone with a girl and a mattress, even in these less than salubrious surroundings.

Rey being agreeable, they left Ben to pack his things, after he’d received an armful of girl in recompense and a passionate kiss.

Chewie trudged off, Rey in tow having prised her free, muttering, “Yeah, Han Solo’s boy.”

Ben lingered, packing up his things, getting straight in his mind that his behaviours to date didn’t constitute his finest hours, and that Rey deserved the best of him and not to have to deal with his shit. Since he was obviously incapable of determining his own future, well, he’d do whatever Rey said he should until he learned to do it all better.

Bottom line: Rey should be proud of him - and so should his kids. His lip trembled, he couldn’t bear it if he disappointed his kids _and_ Rey. He wiped his eyes, he needed to get out of here and reconnect with the certainties Rey projected.

He staggered into the gym with all his worldly goods and dropped the lot at the sight assailing his eyes. Uncle Chewie and his crew taught boxing and martial arts, and in the centre of the vast floor was an elevated boxing ring. Currently sparring in it was his uncle and betrothed.

Someone had found a pair of shorts - a pair of black, tight, body-hugging shorts - and put Rey in them. They had also found a lilac vest for her to wear, so loose it showed her bra.

Barefoot, though her feet and hands were taped up, she was currently kicking Uncle Chewie’s torso and hands - thankfully protected by pads. She was executing a drop kick which would have felled a lesser man as he watched open mouthed, her fists clenched and following through with a flurry of punches to the large pads adorning Uncle Chewie’s hands and which he was moving to block her blows.

Yeah, for sure she could kick his ass, any day of the week, and you know, he’d let her.

They sparred for a few more minutes and then broke for a breather, his uncle discussing her technique with her.

Catching sight of Ben, her face broke into a wide grin. Ending the session, Rey jumped lightly down out the ring, blowing him a kiss before heading for the showers, loosening the bindings on her hands as she bounced along on tippy-toes. Her ass, clad in Lycra, jiggled a little. He growled low in his throat as his dick woke up.

“Our beloved is a walking snack,” his dick observed, “is she not?”

“She surely is,” Ben breathed.

“Soon she will be naked,” his dick mused, “wet from the shower, soap suds dripping down from her tip-tilted breasts onto her toned abdomen, rivulets traversing her golden skin down to her secret place meant only for us.”

Ben swallowed hard, he spoke, his voice a dry rasp, “Yeah.”

“Mayhap her hand will pass over her womanhood while cleansing herself - perhaps innocently probing with tiny pink fingers between her folds - so that she thinks of us.”

Ben’s Adam’s apple went into overdrive. “Yeah,” he breathed, voice thick and deep.

“We will go to her,” his dick announced, “and offer her comfort and assistance. Surely our female yearns for us, as we yearn for her.” His dick’s voice was now low, and dark in tone. Ben’s feet began to move forward, his dick helpfully pointing the way.

“Woah, woah, wait a minute,” Ben’s other brain engaged. “This is not appropriate, and anyway you are under a moratorium.” Ben’s other brain applied the brake and halted his perambulation, _stiffening_ his resolve.

“Hypocrite,” his dick sneered, “when I consider some of the low places you have indulged your carnal lusts, debasing and exposing me to harm, you have a nerve. Copulating with anything under thirty with a pulse and surgically enhanced breasts, without first making proper inquiry.”

“Did not,” protested Ben fiercely, “I checked every time, _every time_. And anyway, mister, I didn’t hear you complain.”

“That is because you dulled our senses with copious amounts of alcohol, _and other substances_ ,” his dick muttered darkly. “And now _I_ suffer the consequence as always, forbidden to avail our beloved of the comfort of my pellucid pestle.”

Ben choked, whether with laughter or some other emotion it was never determined, “Your pellucid ... wtf? Buddy, where are you getting your sex education?”

“Cosmo,” his dick muttered. “That time you visited Dr. Kalonia’s office, awaiting treatment for infected scratches; bestowed upon you by the screeching, surgically enhanced female I refused to have congress with.”

Ben flushed, remembering, “That was a one time thing.”

“Yes,” his dick retorted nastily, “until the next time.

“Ok, that’s it. End of conversation.”

“And what conversation would that be?” Behind him was the deep rumble of Uncle Chewie, come from stowing kit.

“Oh, nothing. Just, y’know, talking to myself.”

“That’s ok, then. It’s only insanity when you start answering yourself.”

His uncle gave his deep, rumbling laugh as he passed him, bestowing a manly slap on the back which had Ben lurching forward, and walked toward his office. 

Thankfully, his dick had contracted somewhat, though still grumbling. He shook out his left leg and patted himself surreptitiously in place before trailing after his hirsute adopted uncle, to engage in small talk while Rey finished up.


	4. Chapter 4

Rey lived at Mos Eisley, a little way out of Chandrila, on a trailer park abutting a small private aerodrome. When he heard this Uncle Chewie started laughing and was still shaking his head with laughter as they pulled away; Rey sounding the Falcon’s klaxon by way of farewell, startling passersby.

Uncle Chewie had enveloped him in a farewell hug, tears in his eyes because of laughing so much, choking out the words, “Well, here’s proof the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Whatever the hell that meant Ben had no idea, but it was nice to be hugged by Uncle Chewie.

The trailer park was sited at one end of the aerodrome surrounded by pine trees. They turned off the highway and drove parallel to a split rail fence for a little way, its timber aged to a soft grey and backed by the black trunks and dark greenery of the tall pines.

Turning off the slip road, the driveway made a sharp right and then the whole vista of the trailer park was laid before him.

It was owned by a retired sailor, Rey had told him on the journey, everyone called him ‘The Admiral’; how true that was she didn’t know, certainly by the neat, ship-shape condition of the site, Akbar ran the park in accordance with the articles laid down in Navy Regulations.

They exited the Falcon, Ben once more forbidding his intended to manhandle his Louis Vuitton luggage, which had her snorting and muttering about _pretentious assholes_ under her breath. His ignored his beloved’s diatribe against the privileged classes and commented instead on the sound the wind made stirring the tops of the tall trees. “It sounds like the ocean,” he remarked.

“Wouldn’t know,” she replied briefly, stomping off to open the trailer door. He made a pact with himself, then and there, to take her to Bespin, Uncle Lando’s resort, once he’d got out of jail with a clean bill of health, his dick cleared for action.

The trailer’s interior was standard factory fittings, bland and forgettable. It was in the soft furnishings where Rey’s personality shone through, seen in the warm primary colours of the scatter cushions and throws, the quilt on the top of her bed, the succulents adorning every sill and spare inch of shelving - except for those facing south where instead showy bougainvillaea displayed bright, magenta, papery blooms.

The interior mimicked the outside of the trailer where was planted in pots a plethora of plant life of all kinds, promising a riot of colour come summer. She also had an Acer in a deep, blue pot, sheltered from the east wind and showing acid green leaves threaded through with ruby red veins. Clearly, his sweetheart had a green thumb.

The trailer was between 80-90feet long, and he could see it was totally a Rey sized space. With him in it it seemed a little cramped, and he hoped his bulk didn’t put her off sharing living space with him.

He followed her from the trailer door to her bedroom where thankfully, he noticed, she had a short queen mattress, which was doable for the both of them to sleep in even with his height and breadth.

He then entered into a jealous internal debate as to why a 5foot 7inch slim built woman would want a 5x6foot mattress - unless she was sharing it regularly with someone who was not Ben. So on one level he wished she slept in a virginal twin, although that would hurt his back and cramp his style tonight.

He was interrupted in his wondering by his beloved’s stomping back in, casting a well-worn duffel bag on the bed and scowling at him. “Have you phoned your dad?”

He hadn’t and was immediately contrite, pointing out though that his phone was now unusable due to a certain bounty hunter causing him to be flung five foot into the air and landing on said phone - and he had the bruises to prove it.

She immediately stopped scowling and gave a wide grin. “I sure wish you’d been a badass two man job instead of a pussy assignment, so someone could have filmed it.” As she spoke, she handed him her phone and stomped back off to her truck. He gazed after her fondly.

He moved into the living area, passing through the kitchenette and to where the table and bench seats were, hearing Rey call out to a neighbour outside as he punched in his dad’s number.

His dad was surprisingly restrained, and he suspected Uncle Chewie had already been on the line giving his Pops the lowdown. Sure there was the usual recrimination and a plaintive plea for him to ‘think about his life’ to come, but overall his dad was restrained and Ben was glad of it. He heard the trailer door open and close and Rey’s now familiar stomp heading for her bedroom.

He rose and walked into the short passageway leading to her room, catching a glimpse of her reflection in a cheval mirror which was placed at an angle, though she herself was hidden from view. He settled himself, leaning against the trailer’s interior wall, replying to his dad with ‘uh-hu’s’ and ‘yes, sir’s’ when needed.

She had taken off her jacket and loosened her topknot so that her hair fell to her shoulders in soft waves, having dried naturally during the journey over. She appeared to be sorting laundry from her duffel bag.

As he watched, she picked up her leather jacket and withdrew from its pockets her bra and underwear. He recognised the set immediately, functional, no-frills, flesh coloured fabric that she’d pranced out of the bathroom wearing this morning.

Not passion killing, obviously, because it was Rey wearing it, but not guaranteed to get him hot and bothered. It got him hot and bothered now though because, obviously, that meant she was currently naked underneath her tee and skintight jeans. His dick began to purr and he stuttered in his replies to his dad, struggling now to pay him mind.

Rey disappeared from view, and he calmed himself down as he heard her begin to hum a snatch of song and the sound of drawers opening and closing.

He was groping to find the words to tell his dad about Rey, feeling shy and self-conscious suddenly; wanting his dad to take them seriously and not wanting to get mad at him if he didn’t. Rey was now back in view, placing something white on the bed he idly observed.

He stopped speaking and listening to his dad as Rey took the hem of her tee and peeled it slowly upwards exposing her perky tits, her nipples erect in the trailer’s cool atmosphere. “Shit,” he breathed, then hearing his dad’s concerned inquiry.

“Oh, nothing, dad. Go on, I’m listening.”

The tee had now been discarded onto one of the piles of laundry, the pile for washing his brain distantly registered. He picked up the threads of his one-sided conversation with his dad.

Rey was unfastening the top button on her pants, unzipping them. Then she did something extraordinary, she turned showing her derrière to the mirror and began to wiggle out of her jeans in a most provocative way. His dick roared into life, “Our female teases us. She wishes to be _spanked!_ ” its tone was gloating. “Doesn’t she just,” breathed Ben, happy to oblige.

“Son, where are you?” his dad’s concerned tone came down the line. “Oh, at Rey’s,” Ben distractedly replied, watching Rey step out of her pants and turn, folding them and laying them on top of her tee, totally naked now with her tits jiggling a little with her movements.

“Chewie said you’d hooked up with some girl,” he heard his dad say. “Not some girl,” Ben snapped back, ”the girl, and it’s not a hook-up, we’re in a committed relationship.”

He’d been frowning as he spoke, gazing into the middle distance apropos of nothing, and so had missed Rey stepping into her white lace panties, drawing them slowly up to cover her ass. As his dad apologised and launched into a million questions, he now took note of them. 

They were just like lace shorts really, what there were of them, a scrap of lace barely covering her ass and revealing a provocative amount of ass cheek. He inched closer; yup, as he had thought, they had embroidered flowers on the back waistband.

She was putting on her bra now, leaning forward slightly to drop her breasts into the cups. It too was of white lace and provided her with an alluring amount of embonpoint once fastened. She smoothed her hands over the cups, briefly squeezing her breasts together before releasing them. She was now looking fully into the mirror through her lashes - a very coy, inviting look.

Sure of his attention, why else would she be doing this?, she put the tip of a pointer finger between her teeth, gently swaying her body from side to side. If that wasn’t a challenge, he didn’t know what was.

“You bad girl,” breathed his dick, lustfully. “You bad girl,” echoed Ben. “Ben, where are you,” asked his father, “are you in a bar already? Son, we talked about this.”

“No, dad, I’m not in a bar, I’m at Rey’s and she needs my immediate attention. Bye.” He killed the call, surging forward, his dick leading the way.

In uptown Chandrila, his dad was looking bemusedly down at his phone, then he started to chuckle, guessing that baby Solo’s were in a fair way to being made in downtown Mos Eisley right now. He dialled Chewie, “Hey, buddy, tell me about the girl.”

They wandered into Mos Eisley’s only bar, _The Cantina_ , Rey sending a cheery greeting to Wuher, the owner/barkeep. He nodded acknowledgement, other than that his face never moved from its still, sullen look.

Ben noticed his nose had been broken one to many times, now being flattened and set crooked. His ear lobes, too, now more resembled cauliflowers. He later learned Wuher had been a bare-knuckle fighter, and the proceeds from winning illegal bouts had been invested in _The Cantina_ \- the trade-off had been his looks, clearly.

Rey called out, “The usual, please.” Wuher nodded curtly and continued to polish the glass he was holding. Unfazed, Rey led them to an empty booth, they squeezed in and Ben drew her to him, curling a possessive arm around her waist. Things had gotten pretty heated in her bedroom, where he had tossed her on the bed and showed her what _he_ could do for her.

She had moaned and bucked as he brought her to completion with two of his broad fingers, his thumb flicking her clit until she writhed in his arms alternately begging for mercy or demanding that he not stop what he was doing no matter what.

He had tried to pleasure her first with his mouth, but they discovered she was extremely ticklish down there, and his moustache and beard had provoked quite the wrong response in her; causing her to chuckle with merriment and squirm with discomfort rather than writhe with passion. Well, he knew now all her previous lovers had been clean-shaven.

He had laid over her afterwards, an arm enveloping her shoulders, his hand threaded through her hair supporting her neck and head. His too long hair had fallen over their faces, making a curtain for two lovers to shelter behind as he told her that he loved her.

“Is it too soon?” he had asked anxiously. “No, it’s not too soon,” she had replied tenderly. “I feel it too. Right from the moment I first pushed back your hair and stroked your ears.”

She had put a hand up the moment he had begun to confess how he felt, and was delicately tracing a tiny fingertip over the moles and beauty spots on his face, which formed constellations and which he believed marred his looks - such as they were. It was the first time he’d had a lover do that and it deeply moved him.

He’d looked into her eyes, which were now their customary bright hazel, having lost the dark, sultry look they’d worn as she had seduced him. That she had seduced him he now acknowledged, his little bounty hunter liked to be in control.

“You know,” he had tentatively begun, “just because I went home with those girls doesn’t mean I necessarily got it on with them.”

Her hand had stilled, her eyes puzzled. “What are you saying?”

“Well, when you’re Ben Solo and your dad is _the_ Han Solo, and your mom is _the_ Leia Organa; well, let’s just say I could put on the worst performance of my life but those women would still think it was the best night of theirs.”

Her brows had drawn together in a frown, trying to figure it out. Of course, a girl like her would never be like those other women.

Even Bazine had seen their mating as a natural progression. Indeed, her family being as well-connected as his she had regarded it as inevitable. It was only when he rebelled, convincing her it was not a bad boy phase he was going through but a determination to reject all of it, the Skywalker-Solo legacy, that she had given him up and moved onto other guys who fulfilled her expectations.

Those other women had gotten off just on the celebrity of who he was, the chance of a lifestyle beyond their dreams. For a long while he had felt like a piece of meat, it had had consequences.

Rey had resumed stroking his face, unable to comprehend what he was trying to tell her, he took a deep breath and continued, “I just mean it may look as if I’ve been having a lot of sex, but looks can be deceiving, and I’m pretty sure I’m clean.”

She had let a beat pass and then said, “Pretty sure, but not certain?”

He was ashamed to be so needy, and felt as if he was pressuring her. “I’m sorry,” he had whispered, “it’s just that I want you so badly.” He had laid his head on her breast, curling himself around her, hanging her legs over his hips.

“You’re a mess, Solo,” he heard her remark, a hand carding through his hair. “I know it,” he had replied.

They’d dozed the afternoon away, until Rey’s stomach growled so much they cleaned themselves up and headed out for food. Although he was disappointed, nevertheless it was with increased respect he thought of her. Her firm principles exponentially increased his regard for her.

She was worth waiting for.

And now they were together and would be for the foreseeable future and everything was perfect ... “Hey, there, sweet thing.”

A man was approaching, swarthy of complexion and with close cropped curly hair. Not as tall as Ben by a long way, but no less dangerous. He wore an empty holster tied low on his hip. He was clean-shaven.

“Poe,” squeaked Rey, blushing and wriggling free of Ben’s arm. “Princess,” replied Poe, opening his arms wide and flashing a broad smile that showed two rows of perfect teeth.”

Ben hated him on sight.

Rey was in his arms now, clutched in a hug that lifted her off her feet a little. 

Ben ground his teeth.

Poe now adjusted his hold, Rey’s palms pressed against his chest, one hand resting between her shoulder blades the other clasping one cheek of her ass.

One of Ben’s hands clasped _both_ her ass cheeks. He would have sneered at Poe’s puny efforts at ass clasping, except it was Rey’s ass he was clasping and that wasn’t allowed.

Furthermore, Rey’s ass was covered by tiny cutoff shorts, the hem of which was frayed, the sides of which had split a little further exposing the white lace of her panties.

Ben left the booth, trudging to where they stood, engaged in animated conversation of the long time no see sort. Ben very deliberately separated Poe’s hands from Rey’s body and pulled her behind him, she stumbling a little on her wedge sandals, and looked down on the handsome _clean-shaven_ man before him.

Poe was wearing a very pissed off expression, his jaw set, “What is your problem,” he demanded aggressively, hand hovering over his empty holster.

Ben observed the movement and sneered at the clean-shaven man. “I’ve no problem with you, mister, as long as you keep your hands off my girl.”

“Your girl,” Poe was spluttering with suppressed laughter, “since when?”

“Since forever,” Ben didn’t miss a beat, aware of the lack of credibility to confess to a day and a half acquaintance with the woman in question.

“Seems like you’ve been holding out on me, princess,” Poe was looking at Ben’s right side, from where Rey was peeking around him.

“Seems like I have,” Rey replied, but said no more.

Poe was looking between them both and Ben felt Rey slip her hand into his.

“Okay, okay,” Poe was nodding his head, “seems like I made a mistake.” He held out his hand toward Ben, “Friends?” He was flashing his broad, white-toothed smile again. “I don’t think so,” Ben replied, keeping his voice even.

Poe’s smile switched off, his hand dropped, looking daggers at the big man before him. “O-kay, O-kay. See you around, princess,” and then he was walking away and out the door of the cantina, Ben’s eyes fixed on him every step.

“Here’s your beers,” Wuher’s surly voice broke through the tension, placing two chilled glasses of cold beer on the table of the booth they’d just vacated.

“Thanks, Wuher,” chirped up Rey, “and maybe two whiskey chasers. “Sure thing,” Wuher was already trudging back to the bar, his demeanour unchanged.

Rey let go his hand and squeezed back into the booth, sliding along the leather banquette and making herself comfy. He followed, waiting just a mite too long for them to be easy together. He was turning over in his mind how they came back from this, slumped against the squabs of the banquette, when the solution presented itself in the form of Jenny, Wuher’s hired help.

She worked both the bar and the kitchen, and Wuher, seemingly done with customer service for the day, had sent her over with their whiskeys. She was a good looking woman on the shady side of forty, with long, dark hair and a cleavage which put Rey’s best effort to shame.

“Hey, handsome, here’s your whiskey.” She leaned over so that no way could he not see what she was packing, and slid two whiskey glasses his way. “Just so you know it, I’m single.” Beside him, Rey made a sound like an infuriated kitten. Jenny, oblivious, straightened up and sashayed back to the kitchen, one last sultry look cast over her shoulder.

He was his father’s son, though without enough of his father’s charm, and this unlooked for female attention perked him up no end, though his dick remained resolute against Jenny’s charms.

So it was that he happened to raise up his beer glass in tribute to Jenny’s last, lingering look, and put it to his lips as she winked at him. As he placed his glass down, his arms were full of girl - a girl staking her claim on him.

“Just so you know it,” Rey was mimicking Jenny’s words as she broke the kiss, kneeling on the banquette with her hands buried in his hair, “I’m the girl you came in with, and I’m the girl you’re going home with.”

“Is that so?” he drawled, playing it cool.

“You bet your ass, mister,” the Rey he was used to was back, the image of Poe manhandling her wasn’t as important as a minute ago. Well, it wasn’t a deal breaker, not now.

She settled herself down beside him, curling a hand around his thigh so she had it laid against his inner thigh. His dick startled but remained resolute - she was going to have to work harder than this to erase the memory of Poe’s hands upon her.

She’d picked up her own beer glass, taking big gulps of the cold beer, the glass chilled and dripping condensation. She held his gaze while she drank, putting the glass down and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You know I can kick your ass in a minute, right?”

He had a sudden insight; she took refuge aggression to cover up deeper emotion. He was guessing embarrassment right now, and maybe a little fear that she would lose him. He relaxed a little. “Whatever you say, sweetheart, though you’d have to catch me first.”

She snorted, reaching for a glass of whiskey, “No problemo, asshole.” She poured the whiskey into her beer. “See this,” she sneered, “I bet you and those phoney socialites you’re so fond of banging drink tequila. Tequila is for pussies, whiskey is a drink that will put hairs on your chest.”

Yup, she was definitely feeling insecure.

At this she raised her glass to her lips and chugged down a great draught. He began to have an inkling how this evening would go. She’d banged her glass down and was looking at him expectantly. Lazily, he reached out and poured his own whiskey into his beer, drinking it down while side-eyeing her.

She banged her hand on the tabletop and said, “Now that’s what I’m talking. Wuher,” she yelled across to the bar, “same again.” The surly barkeep looked over and gave an infinitesimal nod.

Ben knew better than to talk her down and his patience was rewarded as Jenny came over with their food, steaming plates of burger and fries with all the trimmings.

“I’ll be right back with extra fries,” she promised, paying exclusive attention to Ben. “Why thank you, ma’am,” he said politely. “Mmm, you’re such a gentleman,” gushed Jenny, “leastways in public.” She winked at him again before sashaying off.

“Huh, could she be more obvious,” sneered Rey attacking her fries and gazing after the retreating woman, a not too kind look on her face.

“I think she’s nice,” Ben replied, innocence just oozing out of him.

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” he replied simply and made a start on his own meal.

Jenny was back a minute later, placing two plastic baskets of extra fries in front of them, the crisp, golden strips steaming pleasantly on a white paper napkin.

Ben made sure to be extra polite, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Ooh, aren’t you the cutest thing! Call me Jenny, sugar.”

“Hey, I’m here,” Rey’s voice sounded sharp beside him.

Jenny cast her a cold glance, “Sure you are,” and walked off.

Rey stuffed a handful of fries into her mouth, chewing furiously, and looking daggers at the retreating hired help.

“You know you’d better not,” she got out, swallowing hard to get the wedge of potato down her gullet.

“I don’t know what you mean, sweetheart,” Ben replied tranquilly.

“You don’t, eh?”

“No, I don’t. Let’s eat.”

Food was numero uno on her agenda, after him, of course, and she tucked in. Jenny brought their second order of drinks but merely winked at him when he thanked her politely. Rey continued to stuff her face, her eyes darting suspiciously between them.

In the end, she drank all the alcohol on the table, demolished her plate of food and both baskets of extra fries, and then picked over his leftovers.

It seemed, with her belly packed with food and swimming with alcohol, it was true confession time.

“I was awfully mad at you letting Bazine touch you,” she blurted out. “And I don’t like how you flirted with Jenny, I really don’t.”

“There’s no need to worry,” he replied, “you’re it for me, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?” her eyes suddenly swam with tears. “People do, you know, all the time, and leave me behind.”

“I’m not people,” he reassured her, “I’m Ben, your lover and the man you’re going to marry.”

“You say the nicest things, in the nicest way,” she gushed, voice and body wavering a little. She pressed against him, “Did you feel it too, that day I kicked your ass and shot the bike from under you, like we should be together?”

“I did,” he replied.

“I’m so glad. Thank you, thank you, for feeling it too.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

“You have the nicest manners,” she burped loudly sending alcohol fumes his way. He sat tight for what came next. “Like, even under that assholery, I could see you had good manners. Like opening doors like I was a lady. Making me feel good around you like I was someone.”

“You are a lady,” he assured her, “you are someone.”

“Am I?” she demanded, looking earnestly into his face. “Am I a lady, or am I scavenger scum?”

“You are most definitely a lady, and our daughters will be lady’s too.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she wailed mournfully, “I want them to wear pretty dresses _all_ the time, and get to go to prom and have beau’s twenty deep just begging them for the privilege. Do you know what it’s like not to have pretty things, not to have a pretty dress for prom, to have boys say they’d rather take their dog to prom than you, cos then they’d stand less chance of getting fleas? Do you, do you?”

“Hey, hey,” he drew her into his arms, “our daughters will have all those things, and more, and any man or woman who says mean things to you from this day forth will answer to me. You know, I’m considered pretty badass myself.”

She snorted with laughter, her lachrymose moment fading fast. “You, badass. Pussy more like. I could take you anytime, you know that - with one hand tied behind my back. Badass my pantyhose!”

She went off into snorting laughter and he let her have her moment. When she calmed down he said, as casually as he could, for it was a big deal for him, “I saw off Poe, didn’t I?”

“Poe,” she snorted again, “Poe’s a bigger pussy than you.” She seemed to recall the details of his encounter with Poe.

“Poe’s not a problem,” she was giving him that wide-eyed look she could pull out of the bag, “he never was a problem and he never will be.” She paused, “Poe was a friend, is a friend. We went on assignments now and again, but we were friends, buddies.”

She looked at him, gauging his reaction, and he decided to let the past die, all of it. Maker, his own life, pre-Rey, was there for all to see, available with the click of a mouse. He couldn’t help but notice the surge of blood to her face though, visible even under her cheeks already flushed with too much alcohol. Maybe she’d just told a teeny, tiny, little white lie.

“Friends,” he intoned and could not miss her look of relief. She pressed against him.

“I need to go pee,” she announced suddenly, clumsily negotiating her way out of the booth. He slid out his own side, waiting to catch her as she exited hers. Sure enough, she wobbled precariously on her wedge sandals and he just cut to the chase and caught her up in his arms, turning to look for signage to the ladies room.

“Through there,” Wuher called out from behind the bar, jerking his head toward a narrow corridor. “Thanks,” he called back, striding toward it, a burbling mess of woman in his arms.

He kicked open the restroom door to reveal a single toilet, clean thank goodness, and placed his cargo on her feet, where she wobbled a bit before steadying. He went to help undo her shorts.

“Ah-ah-ah,” she was beating his hands away, “we’ll have none of that.” She peered up at him. “I see the way you look at me, I see the effect I have on you. Ah-ah-ah, I want that report in my hot little hand before you get to have your wicked way with me, mister.”

“Rey,” he said patiently, “I’m trying to help you get ready to pee. Trust me, you’re right, I was brought up to be a gentleman and there are rules about these sort of things. It would be wrong to take advantage of an inebriated woman, nothing could be further from my mind.”

“Who’s an inebriated woman?” her bottom lip was jutting out belligerently, “I can take my liquor, mister. Why, I could drink you under the table in a minute.” 

She tried snapping her fingers to show him how quickly she could drink him under the table, but it seemed she couldn’t get her fingers to snap and became absorbed by trying.

Yup, as he had suspected, his erstwhile fiancée had a massive overcompensation complex, and with good reason going by the little he had heard.

“Rey,” he said patiently, “you need to pee.”

She looked at him, her eyes now bleary, “I do?”

“Yes, sweetheart, you do, but not in your pants.”

“I don’t wanna pee my pants,” she wailed. She then looked at him pleadingly, “Could you help me with my pants, Benny, somethings wrong with my hands. Look!, I can’t make a fist.” She held her right hand out and made a fist. “Oh,” she said, “seems I can.”

He took charge as she fixated on making and unmaking a fist, steering her into the stall and turning her around. She was still clenching and unclenching her hand, fascinated.

He undid her shorts and pulled them and her underwear down, gently pushing her backwards until the back of her knees touched the toilet bowl and she sat down sharply with a squawk. “Now, pee,” he told her.

She obliged and, quite frankly, he could have cranked out another chapter of his memoir the amount of urine gushing forth out this tiny woman’s bladder.

He leaned against the door jamb waiting, vowing to never let her have more than a soda going forward, and one glass of champagne their wedding day and every anniversary after.

Finally, he heard the flow stop and took a wad of toilet paper and wiped her down, after pulling her off the toilet seat. “Hey, hey, hey,” she protested batting his hands away, but he’d already finished, lobbing the wodge of paper over her head and into the toilet bowl. She immediately became fixated on how cool that was, “Solo, you’ve got skills,” she earnestly assured him, “we can work with this.”

He flushed the toilet and pulled up her panties and shorts, leading her out of the stall and catching her up in his arms, sacrificing hygiene in favour of getting her home and sobering her up. She continued to burble on happily on how the ability to lob a wedge of toilet paper over someone’s head and into the toilet bowl was a transferable skill.

He paused at the bar, Wuher shooed him away when he tried to pay.

“She’s good for it,” he commented gruffly. “So, I heard you’re getting married.” “Right after I get out of jail,” Ben affirmed. At the mention of jail, something like respect lit up Wuher’s eyes. “Jail, eh? Well, she’ll keep you on the straight and narrow when you get out. You do realise she’ll kick your ass if you step out of line?”

“I’m counting on it,” replied Ben, with a wink in Wuher’s direction. The barkeep grunted, his speech for the day delivered. He glared at Jenny, swanning out the kitchen and tucking a paper napkin into the breast pocket of Ben’s red plaid shirt.

“Just in case you change your mind,” she gushed, taking a glance at Rey languishing in his arms, snoring softly. “I won’t,” he snapped back, her eyes widening at the severity of his tone.

“Jenny, come away from there,” Wuher spoke equally sharply, “this is not a game. Stop causing trouble for these folks.” Jenny scuttled away and Wuher gave a brief nod of dismissal to Ben, picking up a cloth and polishing down the already gleaming bar. He did not acknowledge Ben’s heartfelt thank you and goodbye, done with Niima-Solo family drama.

He eased his beloved into the passenger seat of the Falcon, strapping her in and placing a loving kiss upon her forehead. She stirred a little, slurring his name, “Ben.” Hearing his name, he felt an inordinate amount of relief. It was him she dreamed of, not Poe.

The Falcon’s engine fired and she half woke at the sound, before flopping back and resuming her snoring.

He unbuckled her sandals as she flopped on the bed, still snoring, and peeled off her socks. Although he removed her short shorts, he left on her bra and underwear and tee. Tucking her in, he undressed himself, stripping down to his boxers and sliding in beside her.

The moment his head hit the pillow after turning out the light, she was moving crabwise to drape herself over his chest. He turned her face, from resting her chin on his chest breathing beery fumes into his face, to the side, and then heard an unmistakable _phutt-phutt-phutt_ from under the bedclothes.

Note to self, he thought grimly, _never_ allow her to mix beer and whiskey chasers with any kind of food. Thankfully, they seemed like fairly innocuous fanny-farts - for the moment.

He manoeuvred his body to lie diagonally across the bed, earning mutterings of discontent from the being attached limpet like to his chest, and spent another few minutes talking down his dick, which was surreptitiously inching its way from his loins prodding hopefully the soft expanse of Rey’s belly.

“Do not wake her,” he hissed, and his dick, shame-faced, halted its creeping assault - for the moment.

He smiled wryly in the dark, recalling to mind Leia Organa’s many strictures, each of which he had done his darnedest to break over the years. Now, with this tiny woman in his life, he was about to become their strictest adherent. He would impress them on his son(s), he thought, and carefully instruct his daughters what their expectations ought to be.

He concentrated on Rey’s soft snoring, drifting seamlessly into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Ben woke up to find they’d changed position in the night. He was curled around her, his dick pressed snugly against the cheeks of her ass. As he began to tentatively peel himself away from her delectable body, his dick let out a frustrated, “no-nO-nOO-NOOO!”

Regardless, Ben exited the bed and tucked the blankets snugly around his sweetheart. Rey stirred slightly, then burrowed further under the covers. He gazed down at her, his precious girl, and leaned over to place a kiss on her hair, receiving a vicious jab in the stomach from the third person in their relationship.

He negotiated the Rey-sized bathroom as best he may, stepping into the shower stall and directing the jets, set to maximum chill, against his insubordinate member. Thereafter, the status quo was restored.

He then cranked up the heat and made the best job he could of cleansing a large man in a small shower, towelling himself off and winding a towel around his waist in preparation to go find some clothes.

Trailer life wouldn’t suit him, he thought, thinking on the trust fund his mother was refusing to sign over to him - left him by his grandparents. He hadn’t really bothered fighting her over it, preferring to keep his distance from the whole legacy and expectation thing. Anyway, his dad had been generous these last four years, since he left Snoke and Palpatine, but he had responsibilities now, Rey-sized responsibilities and, hopefully, mini-Rey’s and mini-Ben’s to come.

It was time to put down roots and sort himself out, he decided, brushing his teeth and braiding the front of his hair to keep it out of his face.

He retrieved cashmere lounge pants and a soft cotton tee from his luggage, quietly dressing as his girlfriend slept on, soft snores emanating from where she lay bundled up in the bedclothes. He smiled lovingly in her general direction and headed for the kitchen and coffee.

He rummaged around and realised she used the european drip method of brewing coffee, fishing out a glass coffee jug, plastic cone and filter papers. He set the kettle onto the stove top to boil and set about assembling the kit, putting three generous measures of ground coffee into the filter. 

He was interrupted in his cogitations, as he patiently waited for the water to boil, by an all too familiar sound. The light from the main south-facing window was blocked as a large vehicle parked in front of it; the sound assailing his ears the throaty tick-over of an idling Falcon engine. His heart sank - his dad had come calling.

Sure enough, the Falcon’s engine was killed and his dad jumped out the cab, alone thankfully. Ben raised his eyes heavenwards to give thanks for small mercies. By now his dad had spotted him, raising a languid hand in greeting and proceeding to the trailer door.

He was dressed in his usual attire of black pants and a white shirt open at the neck, his casual look completed with the latest in a line of ancient leather jackets, which would be worn until it literally fell apart at the seams. You would never know just how much his dad was worth in monetary terms if you judged him by his clothes. His mom, now. Well, his mom’s clothes just screamed ‘rich bitch’.

Hardly had he let his dad in - after his dad’s sheepish, “Hiya, son, just thought I’d drop by,” and before he could ask, ‘dad, what are you doing here?’ - when there was heard the familiar stomp of his sweetheart heading for the kitchen, Rey walked as if she was trudging through sand, and she rounded the corner.

“Ben, did you just fire up the Falcon?” Her question withered away into a sleepy yawn, the possibility of any further utterances dying on her lips at the sight of a strange man in her kitchen.

She was quite the sight with her hair more resembling a rat’s nest, squinting at him through eyelashes glued with sleep and clogged mascara, an unmistakable crust at the corner of her mouth where she’d drooled in her sleep. From the neck up, she presented a picture of utter carnage. From the neck down, she was as comely as ever - a long-limbed golden goddess.

Both men’s gaze became riveted on her underwear, specifically where the frivolous scrap of lace which comprised her panties inadequately concealed her lady bits.

Her face was scrunched up now, trying to figure out why there was a strange man in the kitchen of her trailer standing next to her fiancé. The glimpse of the Falcon through the large south-facing picture window enlightened her. _That_ Falcon’s bodywork was pristine - rust free and polished to a high degree.

She shrieked. She shrieked and pulled down the front of her tee in a belated attempt at modesty, briefly crossing her legs. Turning, she fled back to her bedroom, affording an excellent glimpse of her retreating ass, the inadequate (expensive) scrap of lace now a wedgie stuck in her crack, leaving _nothing_ to the imagination.

Before Ben could speak, his ears, partially revealed because of his braided hair, now bright red and burning, his dad turned to him and hugged him tight. Ben’s arms were clamped to his sides, unable to free himself even if he wanted to.

His dad released him, briefly cradling Ben’s face between his large hands and planting a smacking kiss on his lips. He seemed pleased with Ben, pleased and proud, for he now slapped Ben heartily between his shoulder blades causing his taller, broader son to stumble forward a step, while uttering, “Good job, son, good job.” The kettle began whistling and his dad turned to switch off the gas and make coffee, cheerily whistling along with it.

Ben trudged the short walk to his sweetheart’s bedroom, unsure of his welcome, reasoning it could be worse. After all, his mom or Uncle Chewie could have accompanied his dad. He shuddered, or, Maker forbid, Uncle Lando. All in all he’d got off lightly - and so had Rey if she did but know it.

His girl was in the bathroom, peeing probably. He sat on the bed apprehensively awaiting her pleasure. He didn’t have long to wait.

She came and stood before him, hands on hips and scowling. “Would you care to explain to me why your dad is standing in my kitchen? _Aannnd,_ how he knew exactly where my kitchen was to come and stand in it?” Thankfully, she whisper shouted at him.

He couldn’t help it, he reached out his hands and spanned her waist, pulling her in to stand between his legs, laying his head against her mid section, cheek pressed against it. She needed a shower, but there was enough authentic _eau de Rey_ to comfort him.

“Don’t be mad at me, sweetheart, it’s my family, they pull you into their lives whether you want it or not. Dad would have heard you live in a trailer park at Mos Eisley from Chewie. Then dad, mom, or Chewie would know a guy who knew a guy who knew Akbar, who would tell him the exact location.”

He raised his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug, snuggling against her tighter and giving a gusty sigh. He felt her hands go to his hair.

“Well,” she began, “that all sounds a little mixed-up, and a little scary too.”

“Tell me about it,” he lifted up her tee and placed a soft kiss on her abdomen.

She raised a leg to slide it around him, her hands moving to his shoulders and grasping his tee for support. He raised his head and helped her settle herself on his lap, easily lifting her until both her legs wound around his waist.

“You know,” her hands were back in his hair, plucking gently at his braids, “if you _had_ planned a visit from your dad without telling me, so that he caught me half naked, there would be consequences.”

“There would,” he agreed. His voice was muffled because his face was buried against her breasts.

“There would,” she affirmed. “Like the withdrawal of certain _privileges_.”

He raised his head, adjusting her to press against his dick which had by now woken up.

“And what privileges would they be, my lady?”

She ground down on him, deploying that wide-eyed look which she drew out faster than a Colt Peacemaker. He tightened his grip on her hips.

She pressed hard against him, his dick now a hard, throbbing, stewing 10-inch length muscle of love, coyly answering, “Privileges affecting your pellucid pestle, which has been trying to get into my panties ever since I took you in hand.”

There were all kinds of connotations to be drawn from that remark. Trust Ben to latch onto the least important. “You read Cosmo?” he blurted out.

A frown marred her face. “Occasionally, but what’s that got to do with anything? Ben, I’m trying to seduce you here and obviously making a piss poor job of it.” As she spoke she freed herself, angrily batting away his grasping hands and stomped off to the bathroom, slamming shut the door. Shortly, he heard the shower start up.

“Well, that’s diamond,” raged his dick. “Well done, laser brain.”

“I think she’s gonna kill me,” Ben observed. “Well, good!” replied his dick, lapsing into grumbling flaccidity.

Ben waited a minute or two before trudging back to the kitchen and his dad.

“Here, son,” his dad shoved a mug of coffee his way over the kitchen island, “you look as though you need it.”

Ben thankfully took it, drinking deep of the heavenly brew.

“Pellucid pestle, uh,” mused his dad while he drank, “your mom and I read that article. A good one too. Maybe your mom and I need to revisit it.”

He put down his own cup in a hurry and rushed to his choking son’s side, thumping his back solicitously.

“Easy, son, easy. I guess that coffee must’ve had bones in it. I’ll pour you a new one.”

“I guess it did,” gasped out his red-faced, coughing up both lungs, only child.

Rey was skittish at first in the company of his dad, their initial introduction never far from her mind, visibly cringing for no other discernible reason. However, his dad’s attire, more suited to a habitué of junkyards and dimly lit downtown bars than a multi-millionaire, soon reassured her and they got on famously. The both of them having an encyclopaedic knowledge of the combustion engine was an ice-breaker too.

Indeed, they got on so well, it wasn’t long before his dad was pulling her in for a hug and, apart from an initial surprised squawk, Rey seemed to have no objections. Which was a good thing because his dad, Uncle Chewie and Uncle Lando were all big huggers, having no use for empty arms where family were concerned.

Ben was a hugger, too, if truth be known. The Snoke/Palpatine years had blunted that capacity, and such women as he had bedded had not evinced in him a desire to hug them. He had consciously decided to hug Rey at every opportunity and, of course, their children.

Breakfast would be taken at _The Cantina_ , Rey decided. Ben saw his father’s head snap up at the name and wondered at it. That his father was familiar with the location of it too was soon evident, for he steered the Falcon unerringly to its location, gazing at the innocuous looking building for minutes together before killing the engine at Ben’s worried inquiry, “Dad?”

A change seemed to have come over his dad, his customary arthritic shuffle replaced by a predatory stride as he entered the bar and stood on the threshold, taking in the few customers already there with a calculating gaze. Ben intercepted Rey’s puzzled look, his answering shrug conveying that he couldn’t account for his dad’s sudden change in demeanour either.

As his dad stepped into the bar proper, “Han Solo!” His dad’s name was uttered in a feral growl that brought everyones head up. It was Wuher, hands on the bar, leaning threateningly over it, “check your weapons at the door, flyboy!”

His dad’s reaction to this edict was extraordinary, his lips twisting into a cocky grin, lifting open his leather jacket and calling out in the most relaxed way possible, “Relax, Wuher, I’m not packing. I’m a citizen now.” For the first time, Ben started to wonder just what sort of business his dad’s fortune was built upon.

This assurance brought forth a derisive guffaw from between Wuher’s lips. “Yeah, right. You’re no citizen, Han Solo. Never were, never will be.” This elicited a slow, sly smile from Ben’s dad. “Hey, Wuher, you got me all wrong, got a wife now, got a son,” he indicated Rey, “soon gonna get me a daughter - grandkids even.”

“Then Maker help humanity,” came the sour reply.

Han was heading for the bar now, Ben and Rey trailing in his wake trying to make sense of this.

“You’ve redecorated, I see,” Ben’s dad was looking laconically about him.

This remark brought forth another derisive guffaw, “It kinda became necessary after your last bust up with Kanjiclub.”

Ben’s dad extended his arms expansively, “I made it up to you, didn’t I?” A snort was all the answer he got to that assurance, followed by a terse, “What can I get you?”

“Breakfast, I hope.”

Another snort was given, “Take a seat.”

It seemed Ben’s dad was familiar with the layout of _The Cantina_ too, for he unerringly led them to a booth in a secluded corner, hidden from the sight of the bar. Before sliding in, he ran his hand over the wall, fingers finding a single hole in the brick and plaster, the edges having crumbled around it as though something had been dug out of it. 

Rey would know, Ben thought, but it looked awfully like a bullet hole. That sly smile was back on his dad’s face.

They seated themselves, Ben holding Rey’s hand under the table for reassurance.

“Yes, I kept it,” Wuher’s snarl sounded at Ben’s shoulder, making Ben jump. “I always said Greedo should never have let you put your hands under the table - not when he had the drop on you.”

Han was openly grinning, “I guess he knows that too, now.”

“I guess he does. I oughta kick your ass for that. The trouble I had with the cops for months afterwards, they not taking kindly to there not being a single witness to the shooting in a crowded bar and no sign of the shooter.” He glared meaningfully at Han. “Luckily the bullet was a through and through.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” answered Han in boastful tones.

Ben cleared his throat nervously. “Just to mention, Rey’s a duly appointed appointed officer of the court.”

Wuher was looking at him with some disbelief. “So? If she’d been here she’d have done the shooting, Han set to be her Pa and all.”

The woman in question was blushing, looking modestly down at the menu Wuher had thrust into her hand. Aware of Ben’s scrutiny, she looked up and winked at him, causing Han to burst out laughing and Wuher’s stern features to relax momentarily. 

Ben suddenly felt out of his depth and a little exposed. Who were these people? Suddenly his past actions didn’t seem so big and bad - a bit pathetic really, just like Uncle Chewie said.

Breakfast was ordered, Wuher waving away Han questioning what his future daughter-in-law would have with, “She’ll have the usual.”

The usual proved to be a triple order of pancakes, stacked one on top of the other, smothered in syrup and served with a pot of english tea. Even Han was impressed by her ability to pack away a substantial amount of food, eyes widening further as she quickly demolished her breakfast and was on the hunt for tidbits from Ben’s plate.

It was an inauspicious start then, which turned into a good beginning, Han and Rey forming that morning an enduring mutual appreciation society.

Han agreed, while Rey visited the ladies room, to broach the subject of Ben’s trust fund with Leia, his mother - Ben’s only other asset being his Coruscanti apartment which he rented out.

It was early afternoon when his dad left them. Rey, whose phone had died, put it on charge and shortly after missed notifications began to come through. There was one from Maz. His hearing was 10.30 the next morning. He spent the rest of the afternoon curled around her on their bed, distressed at the thought of being parted from her.


	6. Consummation

Until she met him he was just another asshole she needed to bring in, a spoiled, privileged one at that. The file Ben Kenobi handed her contained the usual profile; previous addresses and known associates, whether or not he went armed.

Studying it, she gained an impression of a man who had had everything and then threw it away, burned it to the ground.

As an orphan who had had a particularly bad start, until Ben Kenobi became her foster father in her mid-teens, she would have killed for the kind of start Benjamin C. Skywalker-Solo had. She sure wouldn’t have blown an Ivy League education chasing surgically enhanced bimbos and imbibing too much alcohol _and other substances._

The _other substances_ in particular prejudiced her against him, both her parents having the same weakness, it was supposed. Of course, she couldn’t be one-hundred percent sure, the both of them having not stuck around long enough to have that conversation.

She had felt her lips curl back in a snarl; just let him resist arrest, that’s all she asked, and she’d blow his ass off.

Sheesh, and the type of women he bedded, all clones of each other, even his one long-term relationship was of a certain kind.

Bazine Netal was supposed to be a lawyer, a lawyer in the loosest term of the word. If she wasn’t working for her daddy’s law firm, usually taking depositions from other rich kids who’d crossed the line imposed by the law, in Rey Niima’s opinion she’d make a good cocktail waitress.

Rey was making that assumption without prejudice, naturally.

She’d easily tracked him down. Did he really think he could dodge justice administered at the hand of Rey Niima?

Initially, he’d fulfilled all her prejudices by displaying assholery of the first order. Just when she’d decided he had pretty eyes too and maybe she’d misjudged him.

When he’d lifted her up so easily, depositing her on the other side of the bar just like she was a featherweight, _which she was not_ , she’d felt a fluttering in her stomach which she’d quite liked.

A temporary lapse, though, no more.

When she’d vaulted the bar, the assholes he’d been drinking with whooping and hollering, she was Rey Niima again, a duly appointed officer of the court, and Benjamin C. Skywalker-Solo was going down.

It was with rich enjoyment she’d got him in her sights, squeezing the trigger slowly while breathing, “Hasta la vista, baby,” just like Arnie would of, as she fired. Why, she’d have brought Benjamin C. Skywalker-Solo in for free had she known it would be so much fun. Of course, the agreement was signed off on now and no need to put Ben Kenobi to the trouble of changing it.

The asshole had been thrown five feet in the air, _at least_ , and as she strode toward his prone body, she half-wished he’d further resist arrest ‘cos her retractable baton was tucked up under her bullet proof vest and she was a gal who knew how to use it.

Nah, he _was_ a pussy. She had the cuffs on him and was marching him to her truck while he was still trying to recall which day of the week it was.

She anticipated trouble with his drinking buddies, who had congregated outside the bar. She had five rounds left and then would then have to go to work with her baton, but they were pussies too and backed off.

She had felt tension in the prisoner then, a brief quiver of rage possessing him. She’d soothed him. It seemed to have something to do with his buddies not backing him up - or maybe a deeper cause?

Whatever, she owned his ass, and would drop him off at the local sheriff’s office and head for home soonest, except this guy was getting under her skin. Why did he have to look so needy and adorable?

Next thing, she’d taken him on and had her hands full of a tall, handsome pussy with a dick that stood to attention every time she looked its way. A generously proportioned dick, too. Why, if she was anyone other than Rey Niima it might have been concerning.

Rey Niima, however, never backed down from a challenge.

She took him in hand a couple of times, and it turned out his dick was a pussy too. Why, if the image of those surgically enhanced bimbos it had been bedding hadn’t been so strong in her mind, she’d have blown Benjamin C. Skywalker-Solo’s nose and then blown his mind!

So, here she was, handing him over to the clerk of the court, to be taken to the holding cells and then before the judge. She made sure to tell Officer Wexley she was in a relationship with the prisoner. Word would surely spread like wildfire and maybe to the judge’s ears. There was no stricter gaoler than Rey Niima, and the prisoner had indicated he was willing to take a life sentence.

Pa was waiting in the courthouse, enfolding her in his arms and giving her all warm and fuzzy feelings. Uncle Chewie was there too, likewise not holding back with the hugs.

Then there was _her_ , Mama Solo, dressed in a pristine white pantsuit which just screamed bespoke designer, eyeing her up and down.

Well, Rey Niima was wearing a pantsuit too. A black one, _not_ bespoke designer, with a white shirt and a white lace bustier and thong underneath, which had driven Mama Solo’s son wild when he’d seen her in it - she had ways of taking his mind off court appearances.

Mama Solo was looking her up and down. Rey Niima knew a stand-off when she saw one and returned look for look, giving her the wide-eyed innocent look Ben so often commented on.

She was keeping Benjamin C. Skywalker-Solo. That’s all.

Mama Solo backed down, swanning forward and gushing, “The girl I’ve heard so much about.” Rey couldn’t help notice the look of relief on Pa and Chewie’s faces. Mama Solo was hugging her now, gasping a little when she felt the holstered Glock Rey was wearing under her suit jacket.

“My, my, you _are_ different from those other girls,” Mama Solo was holding her at arms length. “Do you always wear a pistol under your jacket?”

“Only to court, ma’am. In case some asshole steps out of line.”

Rey was being crowded now, by two men in suits wearing earpieces.

“If you don’t mind, ma’am, we’ll take charge of your weapon.”

It went against the grain, but, hey, this was her future children’s future grandmother, so best not start something. Anyways, her baton was tucked into the back of her pants.

“Sure,” she said, opening her jacket, “safety’s on.” She caught her future mother-in-law’s eye. “You know, so many guns around town, so few brains.”

Her future mother-in-law’s eyes narrowed, but Rey Niima wasn’t backing down, and she was _letting_ these two assholes take her gun, not having it taken from her at her future mother-in-law’s behest.

She flashed her wide-eyed, innocent look again, just to be sure to be understood.

Leia was nodding, something like respect dawning in her eyes. Good.

Just to be sure, she eyed up the security detail. The older one seemed to favour one leg. An old injury, perhaps. She’d attack the weaker leg first, a single kick should do it. The younger one posed more of a problem, it wouldn’t do to get in too close. A kick in the balls and then a drop kick to the chest. Why, she’d have him cuffed and crying for his Momma in seconds.

Leia was wanting them to go into court now, she had hired a fancy lawyer for her son. Rey felt a little pissed about that. Sure, she loved Ben, but justice must be served. She’d have something to say if some legal shenanigans got Benjamin C. Skywalker-Solo off paying his debt to society.

She followed Mama Solo, being sure to give the security detail a look which would freeze the marrow in their bones, and which inevitably seemed to turn her hirsute boyfriend on. His dick was such a pussy.

They stared back, eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

Oh, please! low-rent gunsels she was guessing. She adjusted her court deputy’s badge, hung on a chain around her neck, just to reinforce the message who’s turf this was as a duly appointed officer of the court.

The six of them shuffled into court, the fancy lawyer already making terms with opposing counsel. She felt her lips thin.

Another person was already in court, Bazine Netal, who had the nerve to waggle her fingers when Ben was brought up, cooing ‘Behn-nee’ to get his attention. Rey made a mental note to bitch-slap her first chance she got. With no witnesses present, naturally.

Her Ben looked paler than normal, if that were possible, dark shadows under his eyes due to a sleepless night. She’d held him in her arms through most of it, encouraging him to read parts of his favourite book to her. A dog-eared paperback, with copious annotations, about some rich asshole who blew off a girl because of her looks and because she was poor. Rey Niima knew about being poor.

Ben said it was about wrong first impressions and an inevitable, deep connection.

She’d snorted at that. Some rich asshole blowing off Rey Niima publicly would get him his ass kicked. Still, Ben said it was almost like their story, so she’d humoured him, eventually falling asleep on his chest, Ben’s deep rumble being so soothing,

He was dressed in a black suit, the pants a little tight, with a white shirt the buttons straining and a thin, black silk tie. His hair was loose about his face, black and glossy. Yeah, he did look hot, or he would without the face fuzz. He was certainly doing it for Bazine, who was now mouthing ‘Kylo’ at him. Yeah, justice must be visited on that bimbo soonest.

Ben’s eyes caught hers and she gave him her full attention.

Six months, that was the judgment, to be served at a low security unit over in Takadona. That was quite a way from Chandrila. Ben looked even more upset.

Mama Solo was asking her to come to lunch, “I’m sorry,” Rey interrupted her, “I need to go comfort Ben. He needs me.”

Mama Solo looked taken aback, like she wasn’t used to being blown off. Tough, Ben’s transport would be leaving soon and she had to get to him otherwise he’d spiral.

Sure enough, his head was down, waiting for final processing. “Get the cuffs off, Wexley,” she snapped, knowing her boyfriend needed to hold her.

Wexley started in on all the reasons he couldn’t. “Hey, Wexley, how about we start talking about that thing I helped you with with your brother-in-law? Like right here, right now - loudly?”

The cuffs came off and Ben put his arms around her, pressing his lips to her neck. Not kissing her, just pressing his lips to her neck breathing her in. He said she had a scent unique to her which soothed him, _eau de Rey_ he called it. At first she thought he meant she stunk, but a quick interrogation holding him by the balls had cleared that up in her favour.

It was an infallible means of coercion with men she had found, when you had them by the balls, their hearts and minds were sure to follow.

They stood there, him holding her, lips pressed against her neck. Finally, he was ready to let go. She didn’t give him any bullshit, just assured him she’d come visit and be sure to send her the medical report on his dick as a priority.

He looked at her mournfully out of those deep brown eyes, and she gazed back into their whiskey coloured depths. Boy, he had pretty eyes, she sure hoped that at least one of their kids had them too.

“I’m scared in case you forget me,” he bleated. “Six months is a long time, and a woman like you must have a shit ton of guys after her.” He was thinking principally of Dameron, she was sure.

“Just get your dick checked out soonest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he parroted out obediently. She gave him _the look_ , “Good boy.”

He crushed her to him then. “I don’t care,” he whispered fiercely, “if I lose you, at least I had something good in my life for a little while.”

“You won’t lose me, and I’ll be over to visit this weekend. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” “Good, good. Good boy.”

That seemed to be all the reassurance he needed, shuffling off after Wexley, who she’d frowned down when he tried to put the cuffs back on.

She didn’t approve of nepotism in any way shape or form, let her be clear, but when Mama Solo stuck her interfering oar in and got Ben transferred to a very low security facility near Chandrila, Rey Niima kept her big, fat mouth shut.

The move coincided with Ben’s dick’s medical report, which showed him to be disease free and ready for action.

When Ben entered the room, complete with narrow twin bed and very little else, he looked at her as though he could barely believe his eyes. “Rey?” he said uncertainly, peering at her like she wasn’t real or something.

“Lock the door, Ben,” she instructed, watching her clean shaven beau instantly obey. His hair had just had a minimal trim, she liked it when he hung over her and it formed a curtain against a cold, hard world.

When he turned back, she had stepped out of her sundress and was wearing only the lace bustier and thong - oh, and white stilettos.

“Rey,” he breathed. Standing there, seemingly unable to move. Ok, she was the gal for this job. “Strip, Solo, my time’s counted in seconds not minutes.”

Of course, he had to go all stupid on her too.

“Rey, what is this?”

“This is the conjugal rights suite and I’m here to claim my conjugal rights.”

He was wrestling to understand this concept, she could see.

“But, Rey, we’re not even married.”

She rolled her eyes and looked at him, putting her hands on her hips.

“I’ll tell you what. Unlock that door and call out there’s a woman in here just begging to have sexual intercourse, then duck out the way so you don’t get killed in the rush.”

Enlightenment finally came, and with it the tearing off of his clothes. He crossed the room even as his boxer shorts were sailing through the air, cast off in a sudden frenzy. He caught her up in a crushing embrace, his pellucid pestle jabbing her in the belly.

As they broke for air, she whispered to him, “That’s more like it.”

She was a woman on a mission, having found and read the Cosmo article on-line, the result of a boozy, girly lunch with Mama Solo. (Who would have thought Pa was so active in the bedroom? At his age!)

First, she made him comfy, his neck and head well supported and then lowered herself onto his dick. He was concerned as she only took in a little more than the tip. She shushed him, his size wasn’t a problem, Rey Niima was in the house! They shared a moment when they both giggled, his a deep rumbling in his chest, and then she started to move.

She counted off internally twenty-six shallow strokes, and then fully impaled herself for one, hearing Ben’s breath hitch. She counted off another twenty-six and then fully impaled herself for two. Ben groaned underneath her. She got him to fever pitch by the time both long and short strokes were alternating equally.

His breathes were short and panting now, unable to maintain eye contact as his eyes were rolling into the back of his head. He came when she did, clutching at her hips to pull her fully against him. “Rey, Rey, Rey,” he chanted.

She leaned forward, her own hair falling over them to allow them to inhabit their own sacred world.

“I love you, Ben Solo. Is it too soon to say it?”

He laughed weakly, “Not at all. I love you too, Rey Niima.”

She leaned forward further and their lips met.

He did three and a half months in all, sentence reduced for good behaviour. By the end of three months they were spending every weekend holed up together in a nearby hotel - well, it was a very low security facility.

She chose to wear minute yellow satin shorts for his release date, along with a very cropped crop top, showing glimpses of the black lace lingerie she had also chosen to wear.

Her beau had obviously had similar ideas, choosing to not fasten his shirt as he walked through the final gate, a free man. Her mouth watered. He’d worked very hard on his weight and fitness in jail and was, in a word, shredded, as his massive exposed chest attested.

He threw her into the passenger seat and drove off to a secluded spot he just happened to know about. If she hadn’t already been pregnant, she was sure their firstborn(s) would have been conceived there - he was relentless.

Throughout their married life, she found he was happiest when given clear direction and receiving copious amounts of praise and lots of sex. Fortunately, Rey Niima was the gal for this particular mission.

He never did anything particularly bad after his release from incarceration, except when she ordered him to unleash Kylo in the bedroom - Kylo being his dick’s name.

Speaking for herself, she preferred pellucid pestle, but then she was a newly converted Cosmo girl.


	7. Vignettes no. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A humorous depiction of pregnancy in this chapter.

It was a fact; Rey never went off her food. Maybe when she had flu, maybe then. Except she never got flu, or anything else really, being disgustingly, self-righteously, obnoxiously, healthy. No, nothing put Rey off her food - except in the early days of pregnancy.

They found this out after the conceiving of the twins, their firstborns as Rey liked to call them, while he was still incarcerated; before he was released early for exemplary behaviour and after she had claimed conjugal rights of him.

She came and picked him up one Saturday morning, the plan being to spend Saturday and Sunday having mind-blowing sex in a nice hotel Rey had found near the very low security facility he was detained at - on his dime.

The first he noticed was that she was subdued in her greeting, seeming distracted when he gathered her up in his arms to kiss her, as though unable to shake off some inner conflict.

“Is anything wrong?” he had asked anxiously. “No, nothing’s wrong,” she replied, rallying and giving her thousand megawatt smile. However, on the journey she lapsed once more into introspection, and as a consequence his anxiety kicked in.

Of course, she was going to break with him, and was trying to figure a way to let him down gently. After all, when did anyone stay permanently in his life, he thought bitterly, he was too much, too _extra_. He could hear his mom’s scolding reproofs in his ears, the sneering voice of his uncle.

Rey parked the Falcon and turned to him. Whatever she was going to say, she changed her mind when she saw his face.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Solo. What on earth’s the matter?”

“Just say it,” he blurted out, “just say you’re breaking with me and take me back to the facility. I don’t need your pity.”

The look of concern faded from her face to be replaced by one of steely determination. “Get your bag and go wait by the door. Immediately.”

Sulkily he took hold of his Louis Vuitton weekender bag and exited the Falcon’s cab, shuffling over to stand by the doorman, looking down at his shoes and merely grunting acknowledgement of the doorman’s deferential, welcoming, ‘Good day, sir’.

He heard Rey tell the valet to be careful how he parked the Falcon, a beat, and then the valet’s courteous, “Yes, ma’am.” Then she was stomping past him, conducting a brief cheery interaction with the doorman before issuing a curt, “Come on, you,” to Ben.

He lumbered after her, head down while she checked them in, trailing after her to the elevators the both of them travelling to their room in strained silence.

“Okay, Solo, what is it with you?”

They had gained their room and her hands were on her hips, shoulders thrust belligerently forward. He repeated his accusation.

She was stabbing his chest with her finger. “Do-not-try-to-second-guess-me. I-am-not-breaking-up-with-you.”

There was such genuine anger in her voice he was already partially convinced, shyly raising his head and looking down at her through his hair, “Really?” 

“Really. Whatever made you think I was?” There was just the tiniest smidgen of exasperation in her voice, he was quick to note.

Suddenly it all seemed so _stupid_. He felt his ears burning.

“It’s just you were so quiet and all, I just thought you were trying to find the right words to break up with me.”

He ducked his head, embarrassed.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Her voice was tender, in a way he’d never heard before. She took him by the chin and raised his head to look into her eyes.

“First off, I’m Rey, not your asshole uncle, and other persons who should know better - Pa excepted. Second, I’m off my feed and trying to figure out why. That’s all.”

Well, if he felt a dumbass before, he felt an even bigger one now and was all contrition and wanting to make it up to her.

“Ok, pussy,” she untangled herself from his grasp, “in that case you can unpack for the both of us.”

She snatched up a snack size packet of Oreo’s from a big bowl of free snacks, (one of the reasons she’d chosen this particular hotel chain), and flopped on the bed with her sugary treat and the tv remote.

“So, how’s your week?” she breezed, turning on the tv and tearing open her booty. He’d put both bags on the bed, and started to tell her about his therapy session as he unpacked when he noticed her nibbling at the edge of an Oreo.

Now this was new. Usually they went into her mouth wholesale, her cheeks bulging, chewing away like a demented chipmunk while she tried to expel words and breath simultaneously around it. Before his concerned eyes, she let out a sigh and shoved it back in the packet, throwing it onto the nightstand.

Rey must be ill, like emergency room ill, his brain told him as he anxiously crawled across the bed to her side, putting a hand to her forehead and telling her he’d drive her to hospital.

She brushed him off, but there were further evidences throughout the day that she wasn’t herself; declining lunch, nibbling on a single Nacho Cheese Dorito before sighing sadly and throwing it in the trash.

His anxiety threatened to spike.

At dinner she made do with a bowl of soup, and even a fragrant fried onion ring wafted under her nose could not persuade her to help herself from his plate should she wish.

They went to bed, he and his dick for once in full accord - Rey mustn’t be put to any exertion _whatsoever_. They would curl up around her and keep her safe.

The best laid plans of mice and men and all ... it seemed there was one snack Rey Niima was determined not to deny herself.

The day after his release from incarceration as a former fugitive from justice, she told him she was pregnant. Having ravaged her in the cabin of the Falcon the day before, he marvelled aloud at how quick they could tell these days, causing Rey to go off into a peal of merry laughter clasped safely in his arms.

It was good to hear her merriment at his expense, but he acknowledged, what he didn’t know about being in a committed relationship was a lot.

Actually, there was one other event that put Rey off her food, childbirth.

Throughout her first pregnancy, Rey was oblivious to the nuances of giving birth, turning up for scans and wolfing down the prescribed supplements, but batting away the pamphlets and books thrust at her by a concerned Ben with a contemptuous, “Nah, how hard can it be?” Concentrating instead on setting up their business.

In Rey Niima’s world, you see, people were divided into pussies or assholes, with certain exceptions.

Chewie was awesome and Han was super-awesome. Ben was adorable (and a pussy). Uncle Luke was an asshole _par excellence_ \- the jury was still out on his mother. Ben Kenobi was badass - and so was Rey Niima. Therefore, giving birth was pussy.

Ben, however, read everything and spoke to everyone. Ben decided that controlled breathing was the key to the whole thing.

Ben became a breathing guru, writing a treatise on it without having yet brought to birth a single baby.

So it was that they were in the birthing suite, Han and Ben her birthing partners.

It being Ben’s shift, he was happily burbling forth his theories while Rey interjected the odd distracted ‘uh-uh’, when a sudden change came over her.

She had been reclining, dressed in a hospital gown, languidly popping Doritos into her mouth with an opened packet of Oreos by her side, flicking through the pages of a supermarket celebrity magazine while assuring Ben her contractions were nothing more than the kind of griping pains you got with stomach ache, when she gave a sudden gasp and called out his name - “Ben!”

Her tone was one of shock, and she turned fear widened eyes upon him.

“Ben,” she said again, sounding anguished, then, “Uh-uh-uh-oh!”

This last bit was screamed out. The initial regular but relatively mild contractions had been replaced by the real deal.

Rey Niima had intended to munch her way through the delivery of her firstborns, even nagging Ben to go raid the machine down the hallway just in case, somehow, she had underestimated the energy required for this particular mission. Now all thoughts of sustenance were banished, Rey Niima had to adapt to a new reality - childbirth was badass.

Shit, scrub that, childbirth was awesomely badass, and Rey Niima was pussy.

So pussy, in fact, that when the medical staff swept her snacks and trashy literature off the bed and into the trashcan, she uttered not one word of reproach. A bone of contention not five minutes ago; she was oblivious to the triumphalism of the nurses in reclaiming control of the birthing chamber from the formerly awesomely badass bounty hunter currently occupying it.

Rather she hung on to her Benny’s arm, eyes pleading for him to make it all go away, and ejaculating every other second, “Uh-uh-uh-oh,” or, “Benny, wtf!”

Ben snapped into action, proving himself to be a birthing badass. He demonstrated the breathing technique he had researched and mastered, his beloved inexpertly aping him.

It wasn’t ideal, but he got his sweating, writhing, swearing girlfriend through her ordeal - at the cost of impaired circulation in his right arm but the gain of respect from the medical folk clustered around them.

Rey Niima went through her second and third pregnancies better prepared, humbled and having gained _respect_.


	8. Vignette no. 2

Ben wanted to get married as soon as he was released from incarceration - a former fugitive from justice. He thought Rey would be of the same mind and was taken aback when his fiancée interrupted his empire building plans with, “Nah, I’d like to wait.”

Whilst he tried to sort out his swirling thoughts, trying _not_ to go all Ben on her, she pulled out a battered old almanac; a seasonal guide which she used to plot her plantings in harmony with the cycles of the moon. For once in his life he kept his big, fat mouth shut.

Turning to the month of June, she pointed out to him that the full moon in that month was known as a Dyad moon, that word meaning ‘pair’. She was looking intently at him now, capturing him in the mesmerising gaze which ensured his full attention.

She took her hand and pressed it against his chest - specifically, where beat his heart. She then took back her hand and pressed it against where her own heart lay.

The month of June, she continued, was named after the Roman goddess Juno, the goddess of marriage, and therefore was a particularly auspicious month for marriage; hence the naming of the moon that month as Dyad - ‘a pair’.

She wished to be married on the 5th of June the next year, under a Dyad moon.

What could he say? He said, “Yes.”

In all their long life together, she never again gave any indication of even the _possibility_ of a romantic nature, which somehow made the yearly celebration of that day even more precious and important.

Before the twins made their entrance into the world, and while there was showing just a slight baby bump through Rey’s clothes, his mother took it upon herself to introduce them into ‘polite society’, returning from Coruscant regularly to host dinners, lunches and the like with _important_ people.

Ben raged a little over this reapportioning of her time, as she had never done so at any other time of his life - during his times of need for instance.

Rey put a soothing hand in his, stroking him and telling him, “Ben, it’s ok, I’ve got this.” He outwardly settled, but that splinter of bitterness was lodged deep in his heart and would not move. Like now, sat in a fancy restaurant, his mother holding court and presiding over a table of about a dozen other people, Rey seated opposite him according to his mother’s seating plan.

He could feel the rage bubbling up in his chest, threatening to spew up out of his mouth, when he happened to look across at his sweetheart.

He’d made it through to dessert, which he’d declined settling for black coffee. 

Rey, however, had enthusiastically ordered a tall sundae glass of something sweet. A concoction of meringue, out of season imported strawberries, whipped cream, and ice cream. It was a favourite of the English, she informed the assembled guests, who nodded politely and indifferently - they were there for Leia Organa, not trailer trash.

Now she had his attention, he saw that she was eating it in a most provocative way; her pink tongue darting out to make play with licking the last smidgen of cream slowly off the tall spoon’s bowl, tip and the length of the long handle. Concealed under the table, his dick tapped into the images Ben’s brain was streaming and roared into life.

“Our female teases us,” it observed silkily. “She sure does,” breathed Ben. The rest of the table was oblivious, all vying for the attention of Leia.

Opposite, Rey had balanced a hulled strawberry in the bowl of her spoon and was slowly _sucking_ it into her mouth. Grinning at him after closing her mouth over the succulent red fruit, she began to slowly chew, leaning back in her chair fully aware of the effect on her fiancé.

Ben’s dick growled. “Our female is naughty. She seeks punishment. She deserves to be _spanked_.”

“She sure does,” breathed Ben, attention riveted on the minx opposite, who had now dipped a finger into the mess and hooked a blob of cream which she was now slowly sucking off her fingertip.

“We will go and give her myself to suck upon. Come.”

Ben answered his dick’s imperative by rapidly and unexpectedly standing, his chair scraping noisily backwards. For a moment he was the focus of attention, managing to stammer out an apology, the white linen napkin he was holding thankfully held before him.

“Excuse me,” he got out. Polite nods were sent his way and conversation resumed. Ben fled to the bathroom, his dick raging in his pants at his cowardice.

“Our female needs our attention. She desires to be filled by us, to be _pounded_.” His dick’s tone was wrathful.

Ben had made it to the men’s room, thankfully empty. “I couldn’t agree more, but, you know, boundaries.”

His dick’s energy started to flag, “Oh for happier times, more _primitive_ times. We would have stripped our female naked and then had her on the table top. Claimed her in the sight of all.”

“You know, you just better shut up,” retorted Ben, “when I think of the trouble you’ve got us into with your primal urges ... well, you’ve got a lot to answer for is all.”

How the subsequent conversation would have gone was a subject for speculation, as at that moment the bathroom door began to open and for one glorious moment both Ben and his dick imagined it was Rey coming through. It was Han.

Ben’s hands were drooped at his sides, so his boner was immediately visible. Han side-eyed it as he unzipped himself, standing before the urinal.

“You know,” Han confided, beginning to pee, “your mother and I were the same when we were first together. Boy, was she hot to handle, always wanting to jump my bones every minute of every day. Good job I kept myself in shape.”

He turned his head and grinned at his appalled son.

“Dad,” protested his son, weakly, “I think this is called over-sharing.”

“Nonsense,” said Han bracingly, “you’ve got yourself a regular little firecracker there. Ought to be at home doing what comes naturally, not stuck at these socials your mother organises to _meet the right people.”_ He managed a fair approximation of Leia’s tone.

His dad shook himself off, zipped himself up and walked to the wash basin, beginning to wash and dry his hands. Ben decided he may as well pee too, now he was here, and walked over to the spot just vacated.

“Yes, sir,” continued Ben’s dad, “don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re built to make women happy,” he had crossed back to Ben, giving his son a manly slap between the shoulder blades, “just like your old man.” Han then walked cockily out of the men’s room.

Ben stared dolefully down at his shoes. Which were now wet. Not with water.

Maybe it was a good thing, he ruminated as he washed his own hands, dabbing at the Italian leather of his shoes with a paper towel, to be estranged from his parents. After all, what was the sum total of his education from them? Secretly his mom was a fox in the bedroom, and his dad was a stud who was hung like a porn star.

He trudged back to the lunch table. His damp shoes had started to squeak.

His mom was on a roll now. Unstoppable. The next big thing was an engagement party, to be held at the Chandrila Country Club, a big, expensive, prestigious venue. Leia took complete control, they just needed to show up.

As a direct consequence of this shindig, Ben’s deficiencies as a boyfriend, lover, fiancé, what you will, were once more placed front and centre.

He was perched upon a plush seat in a high-end boutique recommended by his mother, helping Rey choose a dress for their engagement party. He was struggling.

Not wanting to get himself into trouble, having witnessed over the years his father’s deficiencies likewise in this matter, and the subsequent fallout, he went for diplomacy, i.e. ‘you look good in anything’; ‘if _you_ like it, buy it’.

Diplomacy wasn’t working. Rey’s frowns were getting deeper, her stomps back to the changing room heavier, the sales lady’s contempt unmistakable.

His dick took charge.

Rey walked out, wearing a green halter neck dress, an extremely pissed off look on her face. The style of the knee length dress was bodycon and did indeed show every contour of his beloved’s hot body. Her hormone enhanced boobs, every feminine curve, even the sight of the baby bump was a turn on.

“Just supply the words,” his dick growled, “don’t mess it up.”

Ben rose from the overstuffed chair before Rey could utter a word, crossing the gap between them with a long, loping stride, like a predator. He saw her eyes widen. Good, good. Good girl.

He crowded her, using his height to dominate, standing over her. She stood her ground, looking up at him with eyes wide, a pink fingernail placed provocatively between her lips, held gently between her teeth.

“What are you trying to do to me, little girl?” his voice was a low growl. “Trying to make me crazy, trying to make me lose control? You want I should put you over my knee and spank you, is that what you want?”

He saw her eyelashes flutter. Perhaps she did. Wow, that was a shot at a venture!

Emboldened, he put a hand on the small of her back, his other hand against her pert derrière, pulling her in closer, much closer. His dick said hello, pressing into her stomach. She slid her hands up to his shoulders.

“Of course, I’d prefer to strip you naked and parade you on a leash, but if you ask me, this is the dress for you.”

He had her whole attention, his voice staying low, just on this side of threat. There was a pink blush now showing under her tanned skin and a shudder ran through her.

She turned her head to the sales lady, standing thunderstruck at their side, rooted to the spot.

“Do you have the shoes to go with this?” Rey’s voice was composed but a little unsteady.

“Sure, sure.” The clerk scuttled off. Rey’s hands were now in his hair, their lips met. They made out until the flustered saleswoman returned; Ben tipped her $50 for her trouble as they left the store.

Rey had him in the cabin of the Falcon in the Mall’s car park, pinning him in the passenger seat, her pelvis and pubococcygeus muscle undulating over his 10-inch pellucid pestle, who was happy to assist in the strengthening of her pelvic floor.

Yeah, he thought sleepily as Rey negotiated traffic, he may have been named after Ben Kenobi, but his DNA was all Han Solo.

The invites to the engagement party were a hot ticket, the venue packed.

Redeemed Ben Solo was the centre of attention, his sweetheart not so much.

Word too seemed to be out that his trust fund had been signed over to him, and although Bazine kept her distance, former unmarried or divorced dalliances of his didn’t.

In the presence of the cream of Chandrila political and social society - and Rey’s less exalted friends - he was hit on time and time again.

Ben Kenobi had graced them with his presence too. Ben had met him privately previously, Rey obviously dotingly fond of her former foster father. A serene man, he nevertheless had an air of menace about him, his brown eyes both kindly and piercing.

That there was some history between Kenobi and his mother in particular was obvious. Leia was both deferential and affectionate toward him, not the least trace of the imperiousness which was her usual demeanour. That niggling feeling was back that there was past history Ben knew nothing about, important history which was kept from him. He’d set Rey on the case, he vowed.

Meanwhile, he was beating off one of his exes, Tallie, newly divorced and hot to have him. He wished Rey would come back, she’d wandered off to spend time with her bounty hunter friends.

Tallie was touching him now as he backed away, pleadingly saying, “Tallie, this is not appropriate, I’m engaged to be married.”

She looked at him pityingly. “Oh, come on, you are not seriously even thinking of marrying that creature. Ben, she’s trailer trash, a bounty hunter. Come on, now, don’t fight me.”

“You want my boyfriend?” Rey’s voice sounded at his elbow.

Tallie jumped back, startled. There was an ugly note to Rey’s voice.

Rey spoke again, “Cat got your tongue? I say again, you want my boyfriend?”

Tallie was recovering her rich bitch persona, “And if I do?”

“Well, if you do, you can have him.”

“Rey,” breathed out Ben, his heart being squeezed in his chest.

Around them, the room was falling silent.

“Yeah, you can have him ... but you’ll have to fight me first.”

Rey was moving forward now, aggressively, purposefully, getting in Tallie’s face, well as near as she could, Tallie’s surgically enhanced breasts getting in the way. Waves of raw, untamed power seemed to be rolling off of his sweetheart.

“Come on, bitch, give it your best shot. Come on.”

Rey made a movement with her hand, the muscles in her toned arms flexing, inviting Tallie to make her move, her eyes never leaving the pneumatic blonde’s. Ben hated himself, sorta, but he was becoming sexually aroused.

The stalemate broke, Tallie turned and pushed through the assembled throng, mortified and not far from tears.

“I want all you bitches to know,” Rey’s clipped British accent sounded throughout the venue, “you come for my man, you go through my fist first.” She rolled her shoulders meaningfully.

Her gaze searched out dissenters. Finally satisfied there were no takers, she delivered the valediction, “You step out of line,” she growled at them, “do I have to say it?”

Incredibly, many there shook their heads and there were even a few audible ‘No ma’am’s’.

Her eyes travelled slowly over the assembled dignitaries, “Good, good, very good. Enjoy the party.”

She turned her back on them dismissively, eyes alighting on Ben’s raging boner, his dick pointing North by North-East in his tuxedo pants. Her toothy grin lit up her face, “Something there I can help you with, Mister?”

For once, Ben didn’t need his dick’s urging, he surged forward, sweeping her up in his arms and heading at speed for the bathrooms. A great cheer went up from behind them, followed by a tsunami of chatter.

Locking them both in the VIP ladies powder room, he showed his sweetheart a few moves of his own.


End file.
